


Childlike Wonder and Love

by Calacious



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: AU, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Foster Care, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2017-12-29 22:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gemma and John Teller have been taking in foster children for many years now, but something about the four little boys that they've recently taken into their home has them considering adoption.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Foster care AU. 
> 
> Written for the cotton candy square - wonder. 
> 
> Foster care AU. Kid!fic. 
> 
> I apologize for any inconsistencies and ridiculousness, etc. What I know about foster care comes from personal experience, and growing up with a social worker for a mom, rather than detailed research. I believe that each person's experience in the system is different, and I hope that this does not offend anyone, or stir up any bad memories from a less than ideal experience. 
> 
> Just getting around to posting this here.

Juan sat down on the floor, his eyes reverently glued to the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree that sat in the corner. There were presents beneath the tree. Tons and tons of them. More presents than Juan had ever seen in the entirety of his four years of life. He was so excited that he could hardly breathe.

 

Hands clasped tightly together in his lap, Juan continued to stare with wide-eyed wonder at the decorated tree as Filip walked into the room and plopped down beside him. The older boy yawned loudly and ruffled Juan’s hair.

 

“What ya gawping at?” Filip asked around another jaw-splitting yawn.

 

Juan blinked and turned briefly to give the other boy an incredulous look. His eyes were drawn back to the tree almost as immediately as they’d left it.

 

“Kissmas tree,” Juan said, pointing, “presens.” He nudged the older boy with his elbow and Filip scowled and rubbed at the sore spot in his side.

 

“Still don’t see what the big fuss’s about,” Filip said, and he stretched his long legs out in front of him, the pajama bottoms tugging up to reveal thin, bony ankles. “Not like any of those presents is for us.”

 

Juan frowned, his brows furrowing together, but then he smiled widely, revealing dimples and missing teeth. He shrugged and sighed.

 

“Pretty tree,” he said, content just to stare up at the silver and white angel standing up at the top of the tree.  Juan had never gotten presents for Christmas before, so the thought that there’s not a single present, in the huge pile surrounding the Christmas tree, with his name on it, doesn’t bother him at all.

 

“Y’re daft,” Filip said, but his eyes too were drawn to the angel at the top of the tree.

 

She was a pretty thing with brown hair and dressed all in white. There was a halo attached to the back of her head, and silver wings that sparkled in the lights of the tree. It was almost magical. Filip caught himself gaping, almost as blatantly as Juan, and snapped his mouth shut.

 

He was almost nine years old now, would be in just six months’ time, it was time for him to put such childish fancies from his mind. Least that’s what he knew his father would say if he’d have caught him gawking at the Christmas tree like a little baby. It’s a good thing that his father is not going to be there for Christmas.

 

None of their fathers, or in Juan’s case, mother, would be there. Or, at least that’s what Miss Gemma and Mr. John had told them when they’d asked about it – they’d said something about how their parents couldn’t take care of them anymore. Filip knew that was a load of rubbish, their parents just didn’t want to take care of them anymore and had left them with the system.

 

He’d been with the Tellers for going on four months now, and was constantly looking over his shoulder, expecting his parents to come and take him away, or one of the social worker ladies to put him in another home. He’d been bouncing in and out of foster homes for over a year now, and was tired of it. He didn’t know why no one seemed to like him, and had vowed that this time he wouldn’t screw things up, because, even though he still wasn’t sure about the Tellers, they weren’t as bad as some of the other homes in which Filip had been placed.

 

Juan had seemed terrified at the prospect of not having his mom come for him. He’d arrived just a couple of weeks ago. Hadn’t slept once through the night, yet. Filip knew that he wouldn’t last long in the Teller home – kids who couldn’t stop crying, and woke their foster parents up every single night didn’t last long.

 

Filip had been relieved that his parents wouldn’t be around. Alex, a quiet six year old, who’d been taken in by the Tellers shortly after Juan, and Clarence, a boisterous ten year old, who had been with the Tellers for longer than Filip, had also seemed to take the fact that their parents weren’t going to come for them as a matter of course.

 

“You t’ink Miss Gemma an’ Mis’r John’s gonna let us eat Kissmiss dinner?” Juan asked without taking his eyes off of the tree.

 

He didn’t dare look at any of the presents though, because he knew that they weren’t his. They were off-limits. He knew what off-limits meant. It meant that he couldn’t touch, or think about, or even look at the brightly wrapped gifts. If he looked at them, he might want one, and he might accidentally touch one too.

 

Miss Gemma had spent all of Christmas Eve cooking – making a turkey and ham and getting the fixings together for different types of salads. Mr. John had been at work.

 

Mr. Bobby, Miss Gemma’s brother, had baked all kind of cookies and pies and other things that Juan couldn’t remember the name of – he got to be an official taste-tester, though, and Alex got to be an honorary stirrer and taste tester. Clarence and Filip had been tasked with fetching this and that as it was needed. Miss Gemma had called them her mules.

 

Juan giggled at the memory, and Filip moved a little further away from him. “What’re you laughing about?”

 

“You an’ Cla’ynce, mules,” Juan said, and now that he’d started to giggle, he couldn’t seem to stop.

 

Filip shook his head at the little boy. Juan was the youngest of the four of them, and by far the strangest. He laughed at just about everything, and at just shy of six in the morning, Filip thought it was far too early for laughter, especially laughter about something so ridiculous.

 

Filip was more than happy to relinquish his spot beside the still giggling boy when a sleepy-looking Alex situated himself between the two of them. He was clutching a blanket in a fist and his blue eyes were glued to the tree, much as Juan’s had been when Filip had happened upon the little boy earlier.

 

“Wow,” Alex gasped, and he leaned closer to the tree. “It’s so big.”

 

“An’ pretty,” Juan added.

 

Alex nodded and shared a wonder-filled smile with Juan. Filip was glad that the two got along so well, because it took some of the pressure off of him. He was used to caring for little kids. He’d been taking care of his younger sister and brother since he could remember. He did a better job of it than his folks did, but it didn’t mean that he liked it. Little kids could be so annoying at times.

 

“What are you three doing up so early?” Mr. Bobby looked at the clock on the wall and blinked his eyes.

 

He was wearing a bathrobe unlike any Filip had ever seen before. It was bright red and covered in reindeer and elves. It was an eyesore, but it somehow suited the jovial man, who secretly reminded Filip of Santa Claus. Not that he believed in Santa Claus. Santa Claus was fine to believe in if you were a little kid like Alex or Juan, but almost nine year olds weren’t allowed to believe in that kind of magic.

 

“I’s Kissmiss Mis-r Bobby,” Juan said it like it should be obvious, and Filip supposed that it should, but he rolled his eyes at the seriousness in the little boy’s voice.

 

“Is that so?” Mr. Bobby rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “And what’s so special about Christmas?”

 

“Santa,” Alex said, and he leaned against Filip, and yawned. “’Cept he doesn’t come for bad boys an’ girls.”

 

“Santa, you don’t say.” Mr. Bobby sat down on the couch, directly behind where all three of them were sitting on the floor. “Who do you reckons been bad?”

 

Alex shrugged and scooted a little so that he was almost on Filip’s lap. Filip inched away, but didn’t move too far, so that Alex could still lean against him.

 

“I’m always a bad boy,” Alex said quietly. “’S why Santa never comes to my house, ‘cause I break things or get yelled at by my poppa or make my momma mad. That’s why I’m here, on a count’a my badness. ”

 

Not liking the sadness he heard in the little boy’s voice, Filip edged closer to Alex. Juan did the same on the other side of the six-year-old. He wrapped an arm around the other boy and Filip felt a flash of jealousy and anger toward him, because he was the older boy, and it was his responsibility to care for the younger children. Juan was younger than Alex, he shouldn’t be hugging the other boy. That was Filip’s job – offering comfort. He wrapped an arm around Alex as well, and the boy squirmed until he was free of the both of them.

 

“You ain’t bad,” Clarence said from his position at the foot of the stairs.

 

All four of them turned to look at the other boy as he walked into the room. He was already dressed, and had a wide grin on his face.

 

“Cla’y’nce,” Juan shouted, and practically bounced in his seat on the floor.

 

Filip shook his head at the littlest boy’s antics. He didn’t understand why Juan is was always so enthusiastic about everyone and everything, and he certainly didn’t understand why Juan seemed to like to hug all of them as he was doing right now to Clay – wrapping his arms tightly around the older boy and squeezing for all he was worth. Filip squirmed just thinking about how claustrophobic being crushed like that would make him feel, even as he wondered why Juan hadn’t greeted him like that when he first walked into the living room.

 

“I see that everyone’s already here,” Mr. John said as he walked into the room.

 

He was rubbing his hands together and had a big smile on his face. He caught Juan mid-flight as the boy launched himself at him in a tackling hug.

 

“Miss Gemma’s not here,” Alex said.

 

He watched Mr. John warily, and kept an eye on Juan, to make sure that the big man didn’t do anything to hurt the little boy. Adults couldn’t be trusted.

 

“She’s in the kitchen, getting Christmas breakfast ready,” John said, and he hoisted Juan on his hip and lightly tickled the little boy.

 

Juan laughed, and buried himself into John’s side as the man took a seat on the couch, next to Bobby.

 

It had been a long time since such laughter had been heard in the Teller home, and John cherished it, as he knew his wife did. Jackson and his best friend, Opie, were due in from college later in the day, and he hoped that his son would approve of what he and his wife were planning to gift the four little boys, currently sitting in their living room, with for Christmas.

 

Looking around the room, John’s eyes rested on Filip. He’d probably be the hardest of the four boys to win over. John couldn’t blame him; it had to be hard to take any adult at his or her word after what he’d been through. Eight years of dealing with alcoholic parents – half of those years spent living on the streets, or in a car, or in the back room of bars, and having to take care of his younger siblings when he was barely old enough to take care of himself – had taken a toll on the boy.

 

He’d come to them bruised and belligerent, ready to run away at the drop of a hat. He’d already been in and out of several foster homes for:  fighting with his foster siblings; threatening the parents; running away; and, just being too difficult for some of the foster parents to handle.

 

Filip had certainly done his damnedest to get the Tellers to give up on him, but John and Gemma had seen his misbehavior for what it was – a test to see if they’d give up on him as all of the rest had – and persevered through the trial. John hoped that they were almost at the end of it, that Filip would stop pushing them away, and start trusting them.

 

Alex would be another hard sell. He’d come to them in the middle of the night, the police had brought him, wrapped up in a blanket, to them. There’d been some kind of domestic disturbance which had led to the death of his mother. The police didn’t know if Alex had witnessed his father shoot his mother or not. They’d found the little boy, dressed in his pajamas, sitting in the middle of the staircase, as though frozen to the spot.

 

 Alex hadn’t spoken a single word to the police, and, as the Tellers were registered as emergency foster caretakers, he was brought to them after he’d been checked out by the doctors. He was uninjured, save for some bruises which appeared to be a couple of days old. It was clear that he’d been abused, but the extent of the abuse was unknown.

 

John can still remember the terror in the little boy’s eyes, how wide they’d been, and, the distinct lack of tears. Little Alex hadn’t said a word to them for several weeks, but he’d watched them, catalogued their movements, listened to them, and walked very carefully around them. He reminded John of a caged tiger.

 

Clarence, on the other hand, hadn’t been hard to win over. He’d been with them the longest, and he had taken everything in stride, adjusting to the death of his parents, moving from one relative to the next until he wound up in the foster care system and then with the Tellers. By John’s estimate, Clarence had been in ten different homes in the past two and a half years.

 

Instead of becoming bitter and jaded, as a number of children his age would have, Clarence seemed to have learned flexibility, and resilience in the face of his ever-changing circumstances. John knew, however, that, just because Clarence didn’t display any outright misbehaviors associated with what he’d been through, it didn’t mean that he was scar free either.

 

Clarence just didn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve, and preferred to work them out though physical labor. John had immediately put him to work on a moped shortly after he arrived, and, whenever Clarence was overwhelmed, he’d go out to the garage and work on it.

 

Sometimes John would join him and they’d work together in silence, each lost in his own thoughts. John figured that it was cathartic. Gemma called it male bonding, and left them to it.

 

Juan, their latest foster child, was a true joy to have in their home. In spite of what he’d been through, he was quick to trust, and, a smile or laughter never seemed far from his lips. His mandatory visits to the therapist (all four boys had court-ordered therapy) had revealed horrors that sometimes kept John and Gemma up late at night, wondering how anyone could hurt any child, let alone one who was as sweet and loving as Juan was.

 

John and Gemma had taken in dozens of foster children over the years. They’d first opened their home a few years after their son, Thomas, had died. Some of the children they’d taken in over the years had only been short-term, emergency placements – in and out of their home within just a few days’ time. Others had stayed for a couple of years. Some still kept in touch with them, and they’d lost contact with others.

 

Though it was hard when a placement didn’t work out, or seeing some kids go through the system like cattle and not being able to do anything about it, it had ultimately been worthwhile. John and Gemma felt that their lives, as well as their son’s, Jackson, had been enriched through the opening of their home to kids who needed a safe harbor.

 

With Jackson now in college, John and Gemma had come to a decision. They weren’t yet ready to stop being parents, and yet they couldn’t keep losing children that they brought into their home. It was heart-wrenching, and John didn’t think he could go through that again and again anymore. He knew that Gemma couldn’t.

 

“W’s f’r bekfest?” Juan asked around the thumb that he’d tucked in his mouth. He leaned back so that his head was resting against John’s chest, and he stared at the Christmas tree.

 

“Pancakes, sausage, bacon, and eggs,” John answered.

 

“W’a ‘bout j’us?” Juan asked. His brown eyes were now watching John, his mouth downturned in what looked like worry.

 

“Is that all you care about, juice?” Filip asked. He turned around to face the little boy who was crestfallen. “That’s all you ever ask about, at dinner, lunch, breakfast. It’s always juice, juice, juice…”

 

John held up a finger, stopping whatever else the eight year old was about to say. “Filip, that’s enough. Yes, there’ll be juice.”

 

“You’d think his name was Juice what with the way he goes on about it,” Filip muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear.

 

“Hmm, Juice, I kind of like it,” Bobby said, and he prodded Juan’s arm, drawing a smile from the little boy.

 

“It does seem like a fitting nickname,” Gemma said from the kitchen doorway.

 

“I suppose it does,” John said, looking at Juan for confirmation.

 

The little boy seemed to consider it seriously before nodding his assent. Filip was watching all of them with a look that showed he thought they were all insane.

 

“Next thing you know, we’re gonna start calling Clarence, Clay, on a count’a Juice bein’ unable to pronounce his name correctly,” Filip grumbled.

 

John stifled his urge to laugh at the little scrooge in their midst.

 

“It’s better than Clarence,” the boy in question said with a shrug. “I kind of like it.”

 

“So’s his name Juice now?” Alex asked, pointing at Juan, “And his name Clay?” He pointed at Clarence, his eyes, however, were on Gemma. “Are you gonna give all of us new names?”

 

Gemma walked into the room and shook her head. “No, honey, not unless you want a new name.”

 

She sat down on the floor next to the six-year-old, and drew him into a half-hug. Alex seemed most comfortable around Gemma, whereas he shied away from John.

 

“I like Alex,” he stated firmly.

 

“Alex is a fine name,” Gemma assured him.

 

Filip groaned and placed his head in his hands. He mumbled something that none of them could properly make out, and John thought that might be for the best.

 

“’Course you’re still gonna be Alex,” the eight-year-old said crossly, “’s’not like Juan’s really Juice, or Clarence’s really Clay, those is just nicknames, you know, what you call people for short. An’ I suppose, since we’re giving everybody nicknames, we should call you Tig ‘cause o’ the jammas y’re wearing, and because y’re always walkin’ ‘round lookin’ like y’re ready to pounce on someone, like a tiger.”

 

Alex’s eyes were wide by the time Filip finished his heated speech. He was breathless at the end of it, and his eyes had an almost wild look to them.

 

“I really look like a tiger?” Alex turned to Gemma, he almost seemed excited by the prospect of it.

 

Gemma laughed and nodded.

 

“Now that Filip’s done nicknaming everyone,” Gemma smiled at the eight-year-old who was scowling at everyone’s happiness, “what do you all say to having breakfast, and then seeing what Santa brought everyone for Christmas?”

 

“Filip said the presents ain’t for us,” Juan pulled his thumb out of his mouth to say.

 

“Bad boys don’t get presents from Santa,” Alex added.

 

“We ain’t your real children,” Filip said, “’sides, Santa isn’t real.”

 

“Is too,” Alex said quietly. His eyes darted over to Juan and then to Clarence. “Maybe he just didn’t visit you, ‘cause you were naughty, an’ you’re a scrooge.”

 

Clarence laughed and shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting any presents, from Santa or anyone. Though, I guess that Filip already gave me a present.”

 

Filip raised an eyebrow at the older boy.

 

“My nickname,” Clarence reminded him. “That’s as good a gift as any. Actually, better than some. My grandma always gave me socks for Christmas, and I had an uncle who always gave me a knuckle sandwich.”

 

“Wha’s a nuck old sandwich?” Juan asked, scrunching his nose.

 

“Nothing you need to worry about little Juicy,” Clay said, and he ruffled the little boy’s hair as he took a seat next to Gemma on the floor.

 

“Well, Santa is real. He did come. He left gifts for everyone,” Gemma looked pointedly at Filip whose gaze fell to the floor. She jostled him a little until he looked up, and then smiled at him.

 

John would’ve been surprised if Filip hadn’t smiled in response. Gemma had a special brand of magic all her own, and often won over even the hardest of boys that they’d taken into their home – Filip appeared to be no exception to that. It was one of the things that john loved about his wife – her ability to worm her way into even the hardest of hearts, and garner a smile from the crankiest of grouches.

 

“I don’t know about everyone else, but I’m ready for breakfast,” Bobby declared.

 

Breakfast was an even livelier affair than usual with the newly dubbed, Clay, starting an impromptu food fight by flinging a syrup saturated piece of pancake at Filip, and hitting the younger boy in the eye with it. Filip had looked murderous, but he’d calmly, one could argue calculatedly, took his orange juice and dumped it on the other boy’s head.

 

The chaos that ensued was not a wholly unwelcome one – it was the first time that John, Gemma and Bobby, had witnessed any of the new additions to their home (with the exception of Juan) acting like kids. Everyone joined in on the fun, and that was what Jackson and Opie walked into when they finally stepped into the house after several hours of driving from the university.

 

Everyone froze mid-swing. Alex, hand loaded with eggs, swiveled when he heard the door open with a loud bang, and let the handful loose, hitting Jackson – a young man he’d only seen in pictures that hung on the walls – square in the face. Terrified at the possible repercussions for his actions, Alex ran pell-mell from the room and wedged himself between the couch and the wall.

 

Jackson, however, merely wiped the mess of egg off of his face and grinned at Opie. Both boys scooped some eggs up in their hands and the food fight resumed. Jackson shook his head at his father when John motioned for a temporary ceasefire so he could go check on Tig, and he snuck out of the kitchen and into the living room.

 

“Hey,” Jackson called.

 

John watched his son carefully, even as a pancake hit him in the side of the head and fell to the floor. He wanted to make sure that he didn’t scare Alex. He and Gemma had told Jackson about their latest group of foster boys, but he hadn’t gone into any details about what their situations prior to arriving in the Teller home had been like, and he feared that Alex might react poorly. The last thing that he wanted was for Alex to retreat into himself again.

 

“Alex?” Jackson rightly guessed. He lowered his weapon of eggs when he spied the little boy’s foot sticking out from behind the couch.

 

“Hey, come on out, I’m not mad.” He crept toward the couch, not wanting to frighten the little boy more than he already was.

 

“Sorry.” The little boy’s voice was muffled by the couch.

 

Jackson crouched beside the couch and peeked behind it. A pair of bright blue eyes stared back at him and he smiled.

 

“Hey, my fault, I walked into a food fight unarmed,” Jackson said easily, and he sat down on the floor.

 

When his parents had first started taking foster children in, Jackson had been resentful, and angry. He hadn’t wanted to share his parents, and he’d wondered what he’d done wrong – why he wasn’t good enough for them.

 

But, once, after a major blowup in which he’d runaway and wound up at his best friend’s, Opie’s house, his Uncle Bobby had explained to him that his parents didn’t take other kids in because he wasn’t good enough, or because his parents didn’t love him, but it was because they, and he, had so much love to give to others.

 

Things hadn’t been magically resolved then, and it had taken time for Jackson to get used to their doors always being open to foster children, but he had gotten used to it, and he had learned a thing or two about how to deal with skittish children. His upbringing was part of why he’d decided – and he still had to talk with his parents about this – to become a child psychologist. Though he’d only had a couple of low-level psych classes, Jackson had learned a lot from growing up in the Teller home, and his classes had, more often than not, corroborated what he’d learned from his parents.

 

“Y’re not mad?” Alex was eyeing him warily, one arm held up over his head like he was expecting Jackson to hit him.

 

Jackson shook his head. “Nah, that’s some aim you’ve got there.”

 

“Didn’t mean to.” Alex sniffed.

 

Jackson felt another presence in the room with the two of them. The sounds from the kitchen had quieted, signifying the end of the ‘war’ that he and Opie had unwittingly walked into.

 

“It’s okay,” Jackson assured him.

 

“He din’t mean to mister,” another little boy, and from his small stature, Jackson surmised that it was Juan, said from beside him. “You ain’t gointa hurt him, are ya?”

 

Jackson shook his head. “No, I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

 

“How come you gots eggs in y’re hand?”

 

Jackson chuckled and lifted the eggs to his mouth and shoveled them in. He chewed them thoughtfully, tried not to grimace at the cold, rubbery feel of them, and then swallowed.

 

Juan’s nose crinkled up in disgust. “Yuck.”

 

“Gross,” Alex said from his hiding spot.

 

Jackson smiled widely and patted his belly. “Mmmm…that was tasty.”

 

Alex narrowed his eyes at him, and shook his head. An action which was far too adult for someone his age, something that Jackson filed to the back of his mind to think about later. Not that he was going to use his parents’ latest foster children as Guinea Pigs for his education, but, he was concerned and wanted to make sure that he didn’t do anything to jeopardize any headway that his parents had made with Alex and the others. His parents had a penchant for taking in the troubled ones, and, he could tell that these four were no exceptions to that.

 

Juan knelt in front of where Alex was hiding, and he peeked into the small space. “Come out Alex. We got pessents from Santa.”

 

“It’s presents,” Alex corrected. “Move.”

 

Jackson caught the surprised look that his parents exchanged, and gathered that this wasn’t typical of Alex, but it was more on par with what a six-year-old would say to a bossy four-year-old. Apparently some sort of breakthrough had happened, and Jackson was at a loss to fully understand exactly how that had come about, but he wasn’t about to question it.

 

Juan moved, scooting backwards, and Alex came out from behind the couch. He kept his eyes on everyone in the room, and his back to the wall. _Baby steps,_ Jackson thought, _but it’s a start._

 

“Maybe I should get out of your hair, come back tomorrow,” Opie said.

 

“What are you talking about?” Gemma spun, and glared at him. “You are as much a part of this family as Jackson is. Stay.”

 

Opie’s eyes grew wide, and Jackson knew that his best friend would be spending Christmas with them. It was a given anyway. He didn’t know why Opie tried to shove off Christmas in the first place. His own family didn’t celebrate, and Opie didn’t like having to choose between his father and mother for his brief visits from college, so he typically stayed with the Tellers.

 

“I just thought, you know, with the kids an’ all…” Opie gestured toward the group of boys. “That you’d want…”

 

“Like Gemma said, you’re family,” John said, placing a hand on Opie’s shoulder.

 

“Maybe Santa lef’ a pessent for you too,” Juan said.

 

“I’m betting that he did.” Jackson winked at Opie who finally relaxed his shoulders.

 

“I’m afraid that, thanks to Clay, here,” Gemma said, giving the boy a stern look which lost its sting as it was quickly followed up by a grin, “we’re all going to have to get cleaned up before we can open presents.”

 

Though the pronouncement was met with a groan, all four boys raced up the stairs to get cleaned up, the youngest two in the lead, with the older two hanging back a little. Their voices drifted down the stairs – shouts of, ‘hurry up,’ and, ‘stop pushing,’ and, ‘let go’.

 

“I suppose we’d better get ourselves cleaned up as well,” Gemma stated as she shifted her gaze around the room. The only one relatively unscathed was Opie.

 

“And, from the sounds of things upstairs, we’d better hurry,” Bobby said, his eyes were raised toward the stairs.

 

The ensuing cleanup was subdued, and quick. The boys, who just an hour ago had little hope of celebrating an actual Christmas, were now eager to get the festivities started.

 

Jackson learned, through casual conversation, that Juan had never gotten a Christmas (or birthday) present before, let alone one from a Santa Claus that he’d heard about, but never quite understood. Alex had never been good enough to receive Christmas presents. Filip had spent his Christmases scrounging presents for his younger siblings so that they could have a good Christmas, but he’d never gotten a present either. Clarence, who insisted upon being called Clay, hadn’t celebrated an actual Christmas since the death of his parents.

 

When the last dish had been put away, and the kitchen looked spotless, aside from the plates of cookies which lined the counters, they all trooped into the other room. Juan’s and Alex’s eyes widened in wonder and they gasped in surprise as they took in the piles of presents that had been strewn throughout the living room.

 

The Christmas tree still stood sacrosanct in its corner. The silver and white angel affixed at the top, seemed to survey the group below with a twinkle in her eye.

 

“Wow,” Juan and Alex exclaimed at the same time, and both boys were rooted to the spot, unsure of how to proceed.

 

John plucked them both up, one under each arm, and hauled them toward the pile of presents designated for them. He deposited Juan next to one pile, and Alex next to another.

 

“Go on, Filip,” Jackson gave the boy a push toward the living room when it looked like he wasn’t going to move. There was a look of disbelief on his face. “Go find your pile.”

 

Filip shook his head and leaned against Jackson’s hand. “Christmas is for the little kids,” he said in a whisper.

 

Jackson crouched so that he was eye-level with the boy. “Let me let you in on a little secret,” he waited until Filip shifted his gaze from the floor to him and then nodded, “around here, everyone’s a little kid.”

 

He whispered the next part into Filip’s ear so that only he would be able to hear, “Uncle Bobby’s the biggest one of all.”

 

Filip’s gaze flitted to Bobby, and Jackson nodded. His cause was helped when Bobby practically dove into the room of presents. Filip hesitantly stepped into the room and followed John’s lead to his presents.

 

Opie propelled ‘Clay’ into the room, with, “C’mon, we might as well join them. The Tellers always go all-out for Christmas.”

 

Gemma came into the room last. She held a camera in hand, and started snapping pictures as the boys tentatively began to open their presents when John gave them the go-ahead. There was something different about this Christmas, and Gemma couldn’t quite place her finger on what it was – whether it was the impending announcement that John and she were going to make just as soon as all of the physical presents were opened, or the mixture of different personalities, or something else entirely.

 

This was by no means their first Christmas with foster children. She’d lost count of how many first Christmases she’d hosted for some of the foster kids, or for how many of them it would be the only real Christmas they ever experienced.

 

It was depressing, but Gemma never let herself dwell too much on that aspect of it. If she had, she doubted that she’d have made it through. Instead, she poured her heart and soul into making Christmas a magical and memorable experience for everyone. Something they could carry with them no matter what happened after they left her and John.

 

Some of the kids they’d hosted in years past had been worse off than the boys currently gathered in their living room, with the exception of Alex and Juan. But, there was something different about this group of boys, something extraordinary, and Gemma knew that she and John were doing the right thing.

 

She watched Jackson, her baby, interact with the four boys with an ease that she’d never witnessed in prior years. Maybe it had come with age and maturity, or maybe he too, was feeling the same pull that she and John, and even Bobby had felt when first Clay, then Filip, and then Alex and Juan had been placed with them. Like they were destined to be a family, and it had just been a matter of getting them all together at the right time and in the right place. Gemma just wished it had all happened sooner.

 

“What’cha thinking sweetheart?” John’s voice right next to her ear startled her, and she swatted him on the arm.

 

She blinked back tears and took a deep breath. “I think it’s time.”

 

All the presents were opened, colorful paper littered the floor, and the boys were already playing with or admiring their gifts. Gemma smiled at the disarray. It was perfect, the way a family Christmas should be – all childish wonder and love.


	2. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filip isn't certain about how he fits in with the Tellers. He has a sinking suspicion that he's the reason that the pending adoption isn't going through. Feeling down, and missing his family, Filip opts not to celebrate Halloween.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst bingo square: Assumptions

Filip watched the two younger boys with a scowl. They’d become thick as thieves over the past ten months, and were now whispering and sharing giggles as Gemma helped them get ready for the night’s festivities. Filip had steadfastly refused to participate, claiming that it was against his ‘religion’.

****

In reality, Filip didn’t want to celebrate Halloween because it reminded him of his siblings, and, the thought of dressing up to go trick-or-treating made him miss them all the more. Watching Juan, whom Filip had inadvertently nicknamed, Juice, during Christmas, and Alex, aka Tig, get into their costumes made Filip’s heart ache for his twin sisters and brother in a way that it hadn’t in a long time.

****

“You sure you don’t want to come along?” John asked, coming up behind him. Filip jumped when the man placed a hand on his shoulder.

****

Filip spun around, taking in John’s costume with a single up and down sweep of his gaze. John’s hair was slicked back, and he wore a fancy, ruffled shirt beneath a black, red satin-lined cape. The white shirt was tucked into a pair of crisply pressed black slacks, and John’s mouth was smeared with fake blood. He grinned at Filip, revealing sharp-looking fangs.  

****

Filip’s scowl deepened, and he crossed his arms over his chest. He’d thought that the way that the Tellers had celebrated Christmas, and birthdays, was elaborate. Apparently not even Halloween squeaked by without them going all out.

****

He probably should have realized that Halloween wouldn’t be just an ordinary day with the Tellers when Uncle Bobby had come by to bake with the younger boys. They’d made popcorn eyeballs, candied apples that looked like monsters, and some kind of graveyard cake with worms (gummy) coming out of it. Uncertain, and feeling overwhelmed, Filip had watched everything from the sidelines.

****

Filip shook his head. “Nah, trick-or-treatin’s for babies. I don't mind helping Uncle Bobby give out candy.” It seemed like the mature thing to say, and further emphasized his commitment to not joining the other kids.

****

As though they were a single unit, Alex and Juan turned toward the older boy, treating him to matching glares. Alex’s hands were on his hips - something that, far as Filip could tell, the younger boy had picked up from Uncle Bobby - and Juan’s lower lip was trembling with anger.

****

“We ain’t babies,” their voices rang out in unison, twin frowns of disapproval marring their makeup.

****

Filip could see Gemma trying to hide a grin, and he rolled his eyes. She was dressed as a cowgirl in a red and white checkered shirt that she’d tied at the front, a dark blue jean skirt, leather boots, and a straw cowboy hat.

****

She looked pretty, but she always looked pretty no matter what she was doing - cooking, bathing the younger kids, doing the laundry. Gemma was nothing like Filip’s mother who had always looked old and strungout - eyes perpetually red-rimmed and glassy from drugs and alcohol, hair greasy and stringy.

****

“You must be mistaken, pahdner, we don’t have no babies here,” Gemma said, jarring Filip from a particularly nasty memory of his mother one Halloween when she’d passed out, naked, on the couch.

****

“No, sirree,” Gemma was really playing it up with the accent, causing Juan to giggle, and making Filip’s memory seem all the more stark in contrast to his new reality.

****

“We’ve got ourselves a couple of fierce tigers is what we’ve got.” Gemma tapped something on her thigh, and Filip realized that she even had a lasso.

****

Both boys growled at Filip, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. Instead, he shook his head, and gave both boys a once-over, as though he was judging their costumes. Juan even spun around for him, nearly careening into the wall in his enthusiasm, when Filip made a twirling motion with his index finger. Alex just narrowed his eyes at him, and let out another low growl, that, in another context might have been a little scary.

****

Alex’s face, true to his nickname, was painted in black and orange stripes - like a tiger. He wore a furry, orange and black striped costume, complete with a tiger’s swishy tail.

****

Juan’s face bore white and black stripes. Were it not for the white and black, tiger striped material, as well as the tail, of his costume, he could easily have been mistaken for a zeba. Filip knew better than to say anything to Juan about it, because he knew that the little boy would be devastated by the thought that he looked like a zebra instead of a tiger.

****

Filip ran a hand through his hair, and sighed. “I just meant that it’s not for older kids, like me.”

****

“How come Clay’s comin’?” Juan tilted his head to the side, and his brow furrowed in confusion, as though it was a matter of great concern.

****

Alex pierced Filip with a soul-searching look. “He’s older’n you.”

****

Clay was dressed in ratty looking soldier fatigues, his face had been painted stark white, and bore black and red slash marks across it - there were some that looked like deep gouges, and still others that looked like stitches. Clay grinned at Filip, showing off straight, white teeth, and killer dimples.

****

Filip rolled his eyes at the zombie, and mumbled,“Could’ve fooled me.”

****

Sometimes Filip felt like he was the oldest of the four of them, not Clay. The older boy never seemed to be fazed by anything, and never seemed put out when the younger boys wanted to hang all over him, or begged him to play with them, and he was always carefree, running off and playing with his friends, or with the little kids, like he didn’t have a care in the world.

****

“Seems to me,” Clay said, tucking his hands in his pockets and slouching, “that you need to loosen up a little.”

****

Filip narrowed his eyes at the older boy, weighing the odds of being able to take the older boy in a fight. Though Clay was taller and broader, and had a couple of pounds on him, Filip thought that, if he needed to, he could take him.

****

“You don’ haffa go trick’n’treetin’,” Juan, suddenly serious, said.

****

Both Juan and Alex hated any kind of confrontation, and usually did something, sometimes bordering on the dramatic, to stop it at the first sign of trouble. The little boy stood beside Filip and faced off against the others.

****

“Me ‘n Tig’ll bring you some candy. Won’ we?”

****

Juan looked over at Alex, whose eyes were wide, mouth set in a thin line of denial. Filip could practically hear the wheels spinning in the younger boy’s head.

****

Alex was torn between fidelity to Juan, and the prospect of giving up candy that he didn’t even have yet, to a boy who didn’t even like Halloween. Filip knew that Alex probably saw him as a Halloween hater, which no doubt ranked him very low in Alex's estimation of people, as it appeared that Alex loved Halloween more than any other 'holiday'. Filip hadn't even helped carve the pumpkins that stood on each step of the front porch, and he'd found other things to do while the others decorated the house, setting up the front room to look like a witch's den.

****

Filip knew that, for the little boy, it was very much like being stuck between a rock and a hard place, and he sighed inwardly. Alex didn't want to disappoint Juan, his best friend, but he also didn't want to give any of his candy away, especially not to a Halloween hater.

****

Juan slipped his tiny, clawed tiger paw into Filip’s hand, and gave it a light squeeze. That simple, childish act of love made Filip’s heart ache all the more for his siblings, and his mother - in spite of his hatred for her, he still loved her and he didn’t even understand why. Before he even realized what was happening, his eyes were burning with tears that he refused to cry.

****

Jerking his hand from Juan’s, and causing the little boy to stumble, and Alex to growl at him, Filip brushed at his eyes with the back of his hand. Dodging John’s arms, and Clay, Filip ran from the room, leaving the stunned group behind.

****

Filip heard a softly pleading, “Sorry,” follow in his wake, and that made the older boy feel even worse. He ran to his room, and slammed the door shut behind him. The tears threatened to fall, again, and he scrubbed at his eyes, trying to force them back.

****

Filip paced the length of his room, rubbing at his eyes. You are not going to cry, he told himself. Only babies and wimps cry.

****

The tears leaked out past his palms, wetting his cheeks, and Filip threw himself, face-first, down onto the bed. Losing the battle he’d been waging with his tears, Filip finally let the last of his guard down and wept - the images of his little sisters’ and brother’s faces filling his mind.

****

In spite of the Filip’s first social worker’s promises that they wouldn’t be split up, they had been. Five and a half year-old twins, Kerrianne and Fiona - dark hair, brown, sparkling eyes, and dimpled smiles - had been adopted right away. Filip didn’t even know where they were, just that they’d been adopted by a ‘nice family’. At least the social worker had told him that much.

****

His brother, Jaime, four, had likewise been adopted quickly. The little boy’s fair, freckled skin, and curly, white-blond hair made him look like a cherub. He also had an easygoing temperament, which made him seem almost angelic.Jaime didn’t share the same father as Filip and the twins.

****

Filip had inherited his father’s quick temper and churlish ways. At least that’s what his mother had told him. He was dark, and brooding, and unlovable.

****

Though he’d been with the Tellers for just over a year, Filip had not allowed them into his heart. Being unlovable, he’d made up his mind that he didn’t need anyone, and wasn’t going to let anyone get close to him, because it would all just be a lie anyway.

****

There was a knock at the door, and Filip buried his face into the pillow to hide his tears. He was ashamed of his tears, ashamed of the fact that he’d burst into tears in front of John, and Clay and the younger boys, ashamed that he, unlike his little brother and sisters, wasn’t adoptable.

****

Even though the Tellers had told him, and the others, that they were going to adopt all four of them - Clay, Juan, Alex, and him - it hadn’t been made official yet. There was something that was holding the process up, something that the adults hadn’t explained to them, and Filip had a sinking suspicion that that something was him. .

****

The thought that he was the thing that was keeping all of them from being adopted, made the tears come harder, and soon, Filip was hiccoughing and choking on his own breath. He heard the door open, but ignored it, burying his face deeper into the pillow, and scooting toward the edge of the bed.

****

He felt the bed dip, and jerked his shoulder away when a hand settled on it. He knew that John and Gemma would never hurt him - they’d said they wouldn’t, and they hadn’t yet. They hadn’t even spanked any of them, not even when they’d done something really bad.

****

Juan and Alex had broken one of Gemma’s favorite lamps, by accident, the boys had practically wet themselves with fear, but they hadn’t even been punished. Filip had ruined a new outfit that the Teller’s had given him to wear at church, when he’d forgotten he’d been wearing it and played with some of the boys in the neighborhood - he’d come back with the knees of the corduroys torn and bloody, and the collar of his shirt muddied. Instead of giving him a thrashing, Gemma had cleaned him up, and fussed over him, completely ignoring the fact that he’d ruined the clothing.

****

There was an almost endless list of infractions that he, or one of the other boys had committed which had not ended with physical punishment, and Filip was still worried that it was all an act. That, any day now, John or Gemma would snap and take a belt to him, or the others. Sometimes, he stayed up late at night, worrying about it, wondering how he could protect them all, as he’d protected Kerrianne, Fiona, and Jaime from their mother, and her ever-revolving slew of men.

****

“Filip,” John’s voice was soft, and Filip stiffened when the man placed a hand on the back of his head, but John kept it there, and started running his fingers through Filip’s hair. It was gentle, and soothing, and Filip turned his face toward his foster father.

****

“What’s wrong?” John kept his voice quiet, and Filip’s chest tightened. The man didn’t sound mad, or upset, he just sounded concerned. Filip’s breath hitched, and he let out a strangled sob as he tried to make the tears stop rolling down his face.

****

Filip shook his head, wiping his dripping nose on the back of his hand. He opened his mouth to say that nothing was wrong, but his throat hurt from all of the crying - something he hadn’t done in almost two years now - and the words wouldn’t come.

****

“It’s okay,” John said, and he continued to run his fingers through Filip’s hair. “You don’t have to talk now. I’ll just go tell Gemma and the boys to go on ahead without us.”

****

Filip’s heart thudded in his chest and his stomach twisted. Not wanting to ruin Halloween for John, and the others, he shook his head. He didn’t need John to sit with him while he cried his eyes out.

****

“Shh, it’s okay,” John said, rubbing Filip’s back. The gentle, rhythmic movement made it easier for Filip to breathe.

****

“‘M fine,” Filip managed to coax the words out of his throat, though his tears were another matter. They didn’t seem to want to stop, no matter how much he wanted them to. He was nine years old, had been for almost a  full three months now. There’d even been a party - complete with friends, and presents, cake and balloons.

****

“Is everything alright in here?” Gemma’s voice floated into the room, and Filip thought he could hear the shuffling feet just beyond the open doorway.

****

John turned toward the door, and Filip curled his hand around the man’s wrist when it left his hair. It was an involuntary act, and Filip didn’t understand why he’d latched his hand onto John’s wrist, but, he relaxed when John returned his attention to him, and helped him to sit up.

****

“We’re fine, why don’t you take the boys trick-or-treating, Filip and I will stay here and hand out candy.” John didn’t add the words, when we’re ready, but Filip caught them in the tone that he’d used.

****

“I wanna stay wif ‘Lip,” Juan’s voice held a plaintive note to it, and Filip could imagine the boy tugging on Gemma’s hand, his lower lip out and trembling.

****

“You can’t get candy for Filip if we don’t go tricker treatin’,” Alex pointed out.

****

“But...”

****

“C’mon, Juicy, let’s go get some candy for Filip,” Clay urged the little boy.

****

Filip wanted to protest, to tell them that they didn’t need to bother, that he would be fine without candy, but his heart was in his throat, and tears had all but glued his mouth shut. He didn’t protest when John pulled him into a hug, and simply held him. He even wrapped his arms around the man, and held onto John, as though the man was an anchor, and Filip was in the middle of a violent storm.

****

Filip didn’t hear the others leave, but, he sensed it, and sighed in relief. John didn’t say anything else. He just held him, and let Filip cry until the tears finally stopped, leaving Filip’s eyelids feeling heavy, but his heart and chest a little lighter.

****

John kissed the top of Filip’s head, and combed his fingers through Filip’s hair. Instead of pushing Filip away, now that he’d stopped crying, John continued to hold him, and comfort him. It wasn’t until Filip felt a little more like himself, and began to loosen his hold on John, that the man eased back and looked Filip in the eye.

****

“You want to tell me about it?” John asked, and, though the tone of the man’s voice indicated that it would be okay for him to say, no, Filip didn’t want to. He wanted to tell John about his brother and sisters, and even his mother, he just didn’t know where to start.

****

“Am I the reason that you can’t adopt us?” The words came tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. He hadn’t even been thinking about that.  

****

John’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “No.” He ran a hand through Filip’s hair. “Filip, we’re just waiting for the judge’s approval. It has nothing to do with you, or any of the other boys.”

****

Filip frowned and bit his lip. “I thought it was my fault, on a count of being unlovable.” The words are whispered, and the confession makes his chest feel hot and tight.

****

John pulled Filip into a hug, and Filip could feel a slight tremor running through the man’s limbs. John didn’t say anything at first, he just held Filip so tightly that Filip thought he could hear the man’s heart beating against his ear.

****

“You aren’t unlovable, Filip,” John’s voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “Gemma and I, Alex and Juan, and Clay, we all love you.”

****

“But how come I didn’t get adopted right away, like my sisters and brother? How come they separated us? What did I do wrong?” Now that he’d finally voiced them, Filip wanted an answer to his questions. “Why didn’t anyone want me?”

****

“Because,” John drew in a deep breath. “You weren’t meant for any of those other people, you were meant for us - Gemma, and Clay, and Alex, and Juan, and me. We wanted you, even before you came to us.”

****

Filip wasn’t sure if he could believe John. It seemed farfetched that anyone could want him before they even knew who he was.

****

“You are so much like our Tommy. He was serious and kind, always thinking about others, putting them before himself. You even look like him - dark curls and brown eyes that seem to notice everything. Nothing got past him, and he was taken away from us much too soon. When Gemma and I first set eyes on you, we knew that you were meant to be our son, same as Clay, and then Alex and Juan,” John said, and Filip couldn’t hear any deception in the man’s voice.

****

“The way I look at it,” John said, after a pause, pulling back so that he could look Filip in the eye. “If one of those other families had adopted you, Gemma and I would have been robbed of the chance to get to know, and love, and make you a part of our family.”

****

Filip pondered John’s words, and though he still felt largely unlovable, John’s words made him think that, maybe, it was a good thing that none of the other homes he’d been in had kept him. If they had, he’d never have met any of them: Gemma, John, Uncle Bobby, Clay, Juan, or Alex. Blinking, Filip realized that he couldn’t imagine what life would be like if he hadn’t met any of them. The thought of it made him feel like there was a chunk of his heart missing, and he absentmindedly rubbed at his chest.

****

Filip knew that he’d  always think of and miss his little sisters, and brother, but he knew that they were safe, and loved, so, maybe it was okay for him to be safe and loved, too. Maybe it would be okay for him to let the Tellers into his heart, and to stop pushing them away.

****

“So, it’s not my fault?” Filip asked again, just to be sure.

****

John smiled at him. “It’s not your fault.”

****

Filip regarded John carefully, and not sensing any falsehood in the man’s words, he nodded, and returned the man’s smile. His eyes felt itchy, and his nose was stuffed, but it was like a weight had been lifted off his chest.

****

“You feel up to heading downstairs and helping Uncle Bobby with the candy?” John asked.

****

“I don’t have a costume,” Filip said, feeling more than a little self-conscious and stupid, now that he thought about it.

****

“That’s okay, you can dress up next year,” John said.“That is, if it’s not against your religion.”

****

Filip and John looked at each other for a brief moment, and then, they burst into laughter. Filip’s laughter subsided into giggles, before ceasing altogether,and when they’d composed themselves, John got up, and headed for the hallway, Filip following on his heels.

****

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up, and meet me downstairs?”

****

Nodding, Filip detoured to the bathroom, and listened to John’s footsteps, and then to the muffled sound of voices - Uncle Bobby’s and John’s - as they drifted up the stairs. Peering into the mirror, he grimaced at his reflection - his eyes were red and puffy, his face almost as pale as the paint that Clay and John had used for their costumes. He looked a little like a zombie himself, and that thought made him laugh until he almost cried.

****

Composing himself, he splashed some water on his face, and then ran his fingers through his hair. It was an unruly, untamable mess of wavy curls at the best of times, and, in spite of applying water to his hair, it still stuck up at odd angles. He gave it up as a lost cause, and joined John and Bobby in the livingroom.

****

There was music, and there were goodies lined up on a table near the door. Uncle Bobby was dressed in some sparkly white costume, and had a wig, and sideburns. When Filip stepped into the room, Uncle Bobby waggled his hips and curled the corner of his lips.

****

“What’re you supposed to be?” Filip asked around a snigger.

****

Uncle Bobby placed a hand over his heart, as though he’d been wounded, and did and odd kind of dance move that Filip hadn’t ever seen before. The man turned to John and shook his head. “It’s deplorable, the lack of education in this home. How is it that your children don’t know about the King? Elvis Presley is a legend,” the man said the last part to Filip.

****

“Elvis Presley?” Filip thought that maybe he might’ve heard of the man, but he had no idea what he looked like.

****

“It seems that an education is in order,” Uncle Bobby said, and he grabbed Filip’s arm and pulled him to the record player that sat in a corner of the room.

****

The doorbell rang, and Filip thought, Saved by the bell. Thank god.

****

“Guess it’ll have to wait,” Filip said, racing to the door.

****

A chorus of, “Trick-or-treat!” greeted him, and Filip made an effort to comment on each of the costumes that the children wore; it was something he’d have done for Kerrianne, Fiona and Jaime.

****

He gave each child a handful of candy, and sent them off with a, “Happy Halloween!” amidst another chorus, this time of, “Thank you!”

****

Filip fell into an easy routine with Uncle Bobby, and John, learning about Elvis in between handing out candy. By the time that Gemma returned with the others, Filip was feeling much better than he had earlier.

****

Juan launched himself at Filip, inadvertently sending the contents of his Halloween bucket flying everywhere as he pounced on Filip. Filip easily caught him, with an, “Oomph.”

****

“I gots you lots an’ lots a candy,” Juan said, and he dug into his pail, pulling a fistful of candy out and shoving it into Filip’s face.

****

Blinking, Filip placed the little boy on his feet, and took the proffered candy. “That’s a lot of candy,” he said, peering into the bucket.

****

“‘Lex an’ Clay gots lots more,” Juan said, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. He looked like a jack-in-the-box bursting out of the lid.

****

“Boys,” Gemma called, with a sharp whistle that caused Juan’s eyes to grow wide. “Let’s bring the candy into the kitchen and sort through it. Juan, you’ve had enough candy for the night. Alex, don’t even think about that. Clay, you can have another piece of candy.”

****

Filip laughed as the two youngest boys put their pieces of candy back, Juan actually taking the candy out of his mouth and replacing it in his pumpkin-shaped bucket. They both pouted, and glared at Clay who shrugged and placed the candy bar he’d been about to unwrap back in his bag.

****

Filip trailed behind Juan and Alex as the boys headed toward the kitchen, picking up the candy that had fallen from the buckets as they went. “Did you have fun?”

****

“It was ah-sum,” Juice said, using a new word that he’d heard from Clay earlier that week.

****

“Yeah, there was this one house,” Alex’s eyes lit up as he spoke. Clay helped the little boy up onto a stool, and Filip hoisted Juan up onto the one next to Alex. “It was haunted, an’ I was’n scared or nuthin’.”

****

“Yeah, me too,” Juan said. “There was ghostes an’, an’...”

****

“Bats, an’...” Alex added.

****

“An’ this, this,” Juan bit his bottom lip as he thought. “Speck-il-cur. It had dead bodies in it.”

****

“It’s sepulcher,” Gemma corrected. She helped the boys dump their candy onto the counter, and pulled a couple of bowls from the cupboard.

****

“Speck-il-cur,” Juan repeated carefully, tongue sticking out.

****

Alex snorted and giggled, but he turned to Filip to continue the story. “An’ there was a black cat. It had scary, yellow, glowy eyes.” The little boy shivered.

****

“An’ there ‘as a mummy, an’ a werewof, an’ a fankens stine,” Juan said, listing each monster on his fingers.

****

“Sounds very scary,” Filip said, and Juan and Alex nodded.

****

“It was,” their voices echoed each other, and everyone laughed.

****

“You should’ve come, man,” Clay said, clapping Filip on the back. “There was this one house that gave out whole candy bars, and there’s a party that...”

****

“You won’t be going to, young man,” Gemma cut him off.

****

Clay rolled his eyes, continuing his story about the house with the cool party that was probably still going, and that he, and Filip, were probably old enough to attend. Gemma pointed at the candy and set them to the work of sorting through it.

****

Juan and Alex snuck pieces of candy whenever Gemma’s back was turned. She caught them at it, and playfully scolded them.

****

“Okay, boys, it’s time to go upstairs and get cleaned up,” Gemma said, once all of the candy had been put away.

****

Alex and Juan groaned loudly, but Gemma pursed her lips and pointed to the stairs, and the boys jumped down from the stools and raced each other up the stairs. Shaking her head, Gemma followed.

****

Clay grabbed a few pieces of candy, and shoved one into his mouth as he walked, at a much slower pace, toward the stairs. “You coming?” he called to Filip, who started, and then quickly caught up with the other boy.

****

“So, what was the haunted house really like?” Filip asked.

****

Clay shook his head. “It was great for little kids, but...it was kind of lame.”

****

Filip wished that he’d gone trick-or-treating with Clay, but with a quick look at John and Uncle Bobby - both men talking and laughing about something he couldn’t hear - Filip knew that, though it started out to be a terrible, awful night, it ended up becoming a night he’d never forget.

****

Heart swelling with something that Filip wasn’t sure he understood just yet, but thought it might be love - a sense of belonging - he listened to Clay lament about the party that Gemma had claimed they were too young to attend.

****

He hadn’t been adopted right away, and his own mother hadn’t loved him, but Filip had found a home, here, with the Tellers and the other boys they were trying to adopt. He hoped that, whatever the hold-up was, it would be sorted out soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback would be appreciated. Let's me know if it was worth my while to write, and whether or not I should continue writing. Lack of comments here makes me think I should throw the writing towel in.


	3. Thankful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay contemplates what he has to be thankful for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Features mostly Clay and Juice. 
> 
> I'm working on another, longer installment, but it is taking more time than I thought it would, so I thought I'd post this. 
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving (for those who celebrate)

“Hey, you wanna hand me that spatula, Clay?” Uncle Bobby was holding a squirming Juan in one arm, and a cookie tray that he’d just taken out of the oven his other hand.

Clay knew that he had a lot to be thankful for this year. There were the Tellers who'd taken him in, and kept him, when no one else, not even those who were supposed to be his family, would. Mr. Unser had been upfront with him on that point – people didn't take in foster children his age, for long, and rarely did they adopt them.

Clay wasn’t new to the system, so he’d known that, even without Mr. Unser spelling it out for him. For some reason the social worker seemed to think that Clay didn’t understand how good he had it.

He was lucky, he knew that, but he missed his Mom and Dad. Great as the Tellers were, they couldn't replace his real Mom and Dad, and Clay missed them more than ever, now that it was Thanksgiving.

Clay handed the spatula to the man he’d come to think of as an uncle, somehow it had  been easier for him to accept Bobby as a part of his family than it had been for him to accept the others. As an only child, he was still getting used to the idea of having other

children around, as well as the fact that he was the oldest of the four children that the Tellers had recently taken into their home.

Having been with the Tellers the longest – almost an entire year now – Clay knew the ropes, so to speak. He’d had time to get to know the Tellers, and how they ran their home.

He liked them just fine. They were firm and fair, and Clay didn’t have any complaints about them. They just weren’t his Mom and Dad.

“Careful, Juan.” Uncle Bobby had placed the tray on the counter, and, as was typical of the energetic four-year-old, Juan was attempting to ‘help’ Bobby move the cookies from the

hot tray to the cooling rack. “You don’t want to get burnt.”

Clay wondered how Bobby could be so patient with Juan. He always wanted to be in the center of things, especially when Bobby was around, baking. It was a wonder that the man got anything done with Juan practically glued to his hip as he often was.

Clay didn’t dislike the little boy, but he didn’t exactly like him either. It was complicated. It was kind of cool to have a little kid who looked up to him, but it was a pain in the ass to

have Juan, and Alex, trail around after him all of the time.

Filip was almost the same age as he was, and he was okay. Clay didn’t have much in common with him, other than age, but he was cool to hang out with and didn’t talk much. The little boys followed Filip around too. Alex more than Juan. He didn’t seem to mind it, and, even though he often bitched about it, Filip never once told the younger boys to get lost, and he was never mean to them.

“You want me to take him?” Clay asked, inwardly groaning even as he offered to take the younger boy. Taking care of Juan was like trying to catch an out of control bouncy ball, and sometimes just watching Juan made Clay tired.

He only offered because he wanted to be useful, and it was part of the assignment that Mrs. Delaney had given them for over their short Thanksgiving break. They had to help someone when they didn’t want to and do three good deeds, without expecting to get something in return – according to Mrs. Delaney, that was called being selfless.

They had to write about what they did, and how it had made them feel. As far as assignments went, it wasn’t all that hard, but Clay didn't’ really like to write, and he wasn’t all that excited about the project, and, they had to give an oral report afterwards. He really wasn’t looking forward to that.

Clay wanted to get on Mrs. Delaney’s good side, though. At least before parent-teacher conference time, which was in two weeks. After that, he could let things slide a little,

grade-wise.

At his other school, teachers had let him get away with not doing work, because they’d felt sorry for him, being an orphan. Mrs. Delaney, though, was different. She expected him to do his work, and to do it well, orphan or not. She was tough, but treated everyone the same.

Part of him was annoyed by this – he was used to slacking, and still pulling off passing grades, using his orphan status to his advantage, because there wasn’t anything else good about being an orphan other than benefitting from the sympathy that others gave him – but there was a part of him that kind of respected her for not seeing him as a poor little orphan. The first time that he’d tried to play the orphan card with her, she’d called him on it, and he’d received his very first F. It had been embarrassing, and he’d not been allowed out for recess, and, even when he’d made up the missing assignment, he’d still gotten the F.

Juan’s brow furrowed, and his lower lip trembled. “I wanna he’p.”

“I know you do, monkey-boy, but...”

“Wanna take a look at my bike?” Clay bit his lip to keep from groaning.

He wished he could take his words back almost as soon as he’d said them, but the little boy’s eyes lit up and he scrambled out of Bobby’s arms almost as deftly as the monkey Bobby had likened him to. What was Mrs. Delaney doing to him? Working on the bike that John had given him was something almost sacred, it was special, and it was something that he didn’t have to share with anyone else – it was only for him.

Sometimes he and John worked on it together, and Clay would imagine that he was working, side-by-side with his own father. It made him feel...loved, and almost like he wasn’t really an orphan. When he was working on his bike – it was a junker that John had found at a junkyard when he was looking for parts for a car he was working on at his shop – it was like the world around him disappeared, and it was just him and the bike and the tools.

Gemma had given him a motorcycle repair book. It was the only book that Clay had read from cover to cover. There were pages that he’d earmarked, and some were smudged with dirt, oil and grease. He loved it almost as much as he loved the bike, because it gave him something to do, something that he could control.

“I’ll call you when it’s time for dinner,” Uncle Bobby promised, and he gave Clay a grateful smile over the little boy’s head. As good as Bobby was with the younger kids, Clay could see that even he needed a little break from them every once in awhile.

“Where’s Alex?” Clay asked. It was rare to find Juan without Alex. The little boy practically worshipped him.

Juan frowned and held a hand out for Clay to grasp. “He’s outside wif Fiwip, an’ Jax, an’ Opie, an’ Mr. John,” he said darkly.

“They’re playing football,” Gemma explained.

The only reason Clay wasn’t out with them was because he’d offered to help Bobby and Gemma in the kitchen – something else he could blame on Mrs. Delaney. He’d much rather be outside playing football.

Gemma had the oven open and was pulling out the rack, revealing the biggest turkey that Clay had ever seen – even when his family had been whole, his parents not dead. She fussed around with it for a bit, blowing at her bangs when they fell across her eyes.

“You need any help?” Clay offered suddenly, remembering how his mother and father had worked together to prepare

Thanksgiving dinner. How his father would offer to help his mother with the turkey, and how they’d often end up laughing and kissing, and how he’d turn away, with an embarrassed, ‘Ew’. Now, when he thought back on that, he thought that maybe it was romantic for his parents, and it wasn’t so gross or embarrassing anymore, the thought of his parents kissing.

Gemma turned toward him, her dark hair swirling around her face, flushed pink from the heat of the oven. She was smiling at him, and Clay felt heat creep up into his own face. Juan tugged on his hand, and, reluctantly, Clay turned away from Gemma to look at the little boy.

“Clay, c’n I he’p you wif the bike?” Juan asked the question with as much reverence as most kids asked if they could open their Christmas or birthday presents. Juan gave him a smile, revealing two missing teeth – one on either side of his two front teeth.

“Uh, it’s a lot of hard work, Juice, not something for little kids,” Clay said, using the little boy’s nickname to lessen the blow of his rejection.

When Juan’s smile faded, Clay ruffled the little boy’s curly brown hair, and Juan gave him a shy smile in return.

“Go on and show Juan your bike,” Gemma said, turning back toward the turkey. “Juan, you listen to your big brother, okay, baby?”

Clay felt something tug at his heart when Juan nodded enthusiastically, his eyes wide and serious, and he squeezed the little boy’s hand.

“C’mon, let’s go.” He led the way outside, Juan bouncing along beside him, tugging this way and that on Clay’s hand.

The bike wasn’t much to look at. Parts of it were rusted, and the seat would need to be refabricated. John said that he’d help Clay with the finer work on the bike, and he was looking forward to that. For now, though, John had given him the task of figuring out how to put it together, and get it running.

It had come in parts, and they’d worked together on it on Sunday mornings – just John and him. It was the second project that John had given him – the first, a dirt bike, was sitting in its own space in the garage – and, after three months of working on it, trying this and that, it now actually looked like a bike. Now, all Clay had to do was figure out how to get it running, and let John know what parts he needed to get the job done.

It was like the puzzles that he used to work with his mother when he was younger. She’d lay the pieces out on the kitchen table – they’d never used it for eating, instead using the island in the kitchen, or eating in the living room - and they’d work at the puzzle a little each day until it was complete. Then, after taking a picture, his mother and he would take it apart and re-box it. Even though the potential was there, they’d never solved the same puzzle twice.

One puzzle had taken them six months to complete. Sometimes a day or two would go by when he and his mother would stare at it, trying to figure out where a particular piece went, only to walk away frustrated when they couldn’t find where it belonged.

It was like that, working on the bike, putting the pieces together, and making sure that they fit the way that they were supposed to. Sometimes Clay would have to undo something he’d done the week before and rework it.

It was slow, tedious, and sometimes frustrating work, but, whenever he worked on the bike, no matter how little work he got done, it still felt like he’d accomplished something. Clay liked the feeling that he got, even if it was just a little thing he’d managed to put together right.

Working on the bike took his mind off of other things – like how much he missed his parents, even though they’d been dead for almost three years now. It would be three years a week after Thanksgiving. It made his heart ache, thinking about it, so, he tried not to, tried to pretend that everything was just fine, because it needed to be. Others needed for it to be okay.

His Aunt Amy and Uncle David had needed for Clay to be okay when they’d told him they couldn’t keep him, that it was too hard having a reminder of his mother around. Foster parent after foster parent had told him that he was a good kid, and any family would be happy to have him, but, in the end, they’d needed for him to be okay when they sent him on to the next foster family, because: they didn’t have the room, or they were only a temporary set up, or they were trying to start a family of their own, or, or, or...

Clay had stopped listening to the excuses after his fourth placement. After that, he’d bided his time, figuring that he’d be in the system, bouncing from one foster home to another – like one of the older boys had explained to him in one of the homes he’d been in early on – until he aged out.

Working on the project that John had given him, reminded Clay that he was no longer in that situation, that, if things worked out, he would be a part of the Teller family, permanently. Or, until they got tired of him and kicked him out.

Much as he wanted to believe John and Gemma when they told him that, once the adoption went through, he could live with them, even past his eighteenth birthday (if he needed and wanted to), he still had a hard time believing them. His aunt and uncle had promised him that, and, after not even two months of living with them, he’d been placed in his first foster home.

“Wow,” Juan exclaimed. His whole body seemed to be vibrating with pent-up energy and excitement as he looked at the work that Clay had done on the bike. It was funny to watch, and Clay stifled a chuckle as Juan let go of his hand and stood, staring, mouth agape, at the bike.

Even though they could be a handful, kids were easy to impress, and it took all of Clay’s self-control not to laugh aloud at the little boy’s blind-eyed wonder at what he had done, when in reality, he still had a lot of work to do on the bike. To him, the puzzle looked incomplete, and he could see those missing pieces.

Even so, it was kind of nice to have Juan looking at what he’d done with such amazement. He felt his chest swell with pride, and proceeded to walk Juan through all that he’d done, thus far, on the bike.

To his surprise, Juan listened, and he followed Clay around the bike, listening intently as Clay talked about what he’d done. His little hands were held tightly together behind him because Clay told him not to touch it. It wasn’t that he was afraid that the little boy would break something, but that one of the sharp edges of a patch of rust that wasn’t sanded would cut Juan, and he didn’t want the little boy to get hurt.

“I’m gonna make a bike too,” Juan said when Clay had finished. He was looking, not at the bike, but at Clay. “Jus’ like you.”

Juan’s hands were still clasped behind his back, and he was rocking back and forth on his heels, something that he must’ve learned from Bobby who often did that when he was thinking about something. Juan seemed to take on the characteristics of those around him: Bobby’s rocking, Alex’s stance when he was trying to look tough, the way that Filip tucked his hands into the back of his pockets when he wasn’t sure what else to do with them, and there were other things that Clay hadn’t noticed before now.

It reminded Clay of the chameleons he’d learned about in science class. That lesson hadn’t been too bad, and they’d even gotten to handle a real chameleon, watching how it blended into its scenery. It was a defense mechanism, and Clay wondered what Juan was trying to protect himself from.

He wondered what mannerisms Juan had taken from him, if any. He couldn’t see much of himself in the little boy, and wondered if that was because he held him, and the others, at a distance, because he was afraid of losing them, just like he’d lost his parents, his aunt, his uncle, and everyone else.

It was always in the back of the head, the thought that he would lose everyone that mattered to him, so, he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone matter to him. If no one mattered to him, then he couldn’t lose them, and, if they went away, or sent him away, well, then it wouldn’t be a big deal, because it wouldn’t be like he really knew them in the first place.

An idea formed in his mind of its own accord, and, before Clay could stop it from materializing, he was kneeling so that he was eye-level with Juan. The little boy’s eyes glistened, as though they had stars in them, and Clay’s heart did a little flip-flop in his chest.

“How about if we work on the bike together from here on out?” he suggested, the words sounding strange and foreign to his ears, as though they were coming from someone else. “It’ll be yours and mine.”

Juan frowned, and he shook his head. “‘S danj-rust,” he said, his voice serious as John’s sometimes got when he was having a ‘talk,’ with Clay, or one of the others about something important. “I’m too little.”

Clay shook his head, and tried to work out what he wanted to say to Juan, because he thought that maybe it would be important. Maybe the most important thing he’d said in his whole life, up to this point in time.

He’d just turned eleven three months ago, his latest project had been a gift from John, the book from Gemma. He was the oldest one of the four boys currently living at the Tellers, and that meant that he had a lot of responsibility to the younger ones, because he’d been in the system longer, and he’d been with the Tellers longer. Responsibility that he would not have had had his parents not been killed by a drunk driver when they were out buying Christmas presents for him.

“I can teach you what to do. You can hand me tools,” Clay said, words failing him, in a way they rarely did.

He was good at spinning tales, twisting the truth in his favor. He’d had to learn how to do that after his parents had died, in dealing with some of the foster parents he’d had. Living with the Tellers, though, he’d found that he had to do that less and less. He didn’t need to twist things, or bend the truth. It was strange, and it wasn’t a habit that he found easy to rid himself of, like a snake shedding its skin.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Clay promised. He wasn’t even sure why he was trying to convince Juan to work with him, because, in a day or two, when it wasn’t Thanksgiving, and he had time to think things through, and Juan was pestering him to work on ‘their’ bike, he was sure that he’d regret this.

“But ‘s yours,” Juan said, his brow furrowing in confusion, and his hands fitting neatly into his back pockets as he rocked back on his heels. “‘n...”

“I don’t mind sharing,” Clay said, biting his bottom lip, his heart screaming at him to stop as he added, “with you. Besides, I can use a good assistant. Uncle Bobby’s always saying what a good assistant you are.”

Before Clay knew what was happening, Juan pulled his hands from his pockets, and his arms, surprisingly strong, were wrapped around him in a hug that nearly toppled Clay and did steal his breath. It was like being hugged by an octopus, and Clay fought the urge to disentangle himself before the little boy did, letting Juan make the first move.

Juan’s curly hair tickled Clay’s nose, and the little boy’s body was warm, his hands sticky, and he smelled like the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches they’d had for lunch. It was almost overwhelming for Clay who liked to keep touch at a minimum, because he was too old for it. The hug seemed to last forever, but just as Clay worried that it would never end, Juan released him and pulled back, giving Clay his space.

Before Clay could stand, however, the little boy leaned forward and kissed him, sloppily, on the cheek. Clay resisted the urge to wipe the little boy’s slobber off his cheek as he stood and turned around, facing the tools that he’d been using to work on the bike.

“Okay,” he said, turning around to face Juan who was standing, rocking on his heels, head tilted up so that he could see Clay’s face.

“First things first...” he knelt in front of Juan, a tool in hand. Juan squinted at the tool, leaning in close, his head touching Clay’s as he looked at, but didn’t move to touch the tool, his hands were jammed firmly in his back pockets, once again, just like Filip.

“If you’re going to be my assistant, you need to learn all about the tools.” Clay held the torque wrench out to Juan, and waited for Juan to reach out and touch it.

The little boy was hesitant at first, his eyes searching Clay’s for permission before moving, his body strangely still for Juan whose body never seemed to stop moving. Clay nodded, giving Juan the impetus he needed to move. Much to his surprise, the boy moved slowly, taking the tool from Clay, gingerly, as though he feared that he’d break it.

“You’re not going to break it,” Clay said, causing the little boy to startle. “It’s strong, don’t be afraid to hold it.”

Juan gripped the tool tighter, and lowered his eyes to look closely at it, squinting, and bringing it up close to his face. He ran fingers along it, and smiled as he started to explore the feel of it.

Clay could relate, he’d been that way too, when he’d touched his first tool – which John had given him, and taught him how to use. It had felt heavy, and smooth, and like there’d been an electric current running through his body. It was exactly like what Clay had imagined Harry Potter’s magic to be like.

“Wow.” Juan’s eyes were bright, and he was smiling so that the gaps of his missing teeth showed.

“It’s called a torque wrench,” Clay said.

“Toke-once,” Juan repeated, several times, scowling and blowing out a frustrated air when he couldn’t seem to wrap his tongue around the word.

Clay nodded, to encourage the little boy, and bit back the laughter that bubbled up at the little boy’s pronunciation. Clay proceeded to show Juan some of the other tools that he used while working on his bike. He tried to explain how the tools were used, but discovered that showing Juan worked better than explaining it in words.

“And, this one is used for...” Clay was in the process of showing Juan how to use a rather tricky tool, tongue sticking out of his mouth as he undid some of the work he’d done on his bike previously, to show Juan how it worked, and to let the little boy try the tool himself.

Clay was so engrossed in his work, little Juan sitting cross-legged on the cement floor beside him, that Clay didn’t notice when the shadow fell over them, nor did he notice the first click of the camera when a photo was taken. It wasn’t until several photos had been taken, and Juan sat there eerily quiet – throughout the time that he’d been teaching the boy; Juan had peppered him with questions – that Clay realized something was wrong, and he looked up from his work to find Uncle Bobby, camera dangling from his hand, and a big smile on his face.

“Dinner’s ready, boys,” Uncle Bobby said. Juan held his arms out to the man who easily plucked him off the ground.

“You two should probably wash up first,” he added, making a face that had Juan giggling, and holding the boy out away from himself, as though he stank.

Clay stood and stretched, shaking out the soreness in his muscles from working so long on the ground. As he followed Uncle Bobby and Juan into the house, Clay realized that he had a lot more to be thankful for than he thought he had, and that, while the Tellers might not be his real parents, they did care about him, and the others. Also, he kind of liked being someone’s big brother, having someone, like Juan, look up to him.

Being selfless made him feel like he was on top of the world, and it made him happy. It didn’t make him feel like he’d given something up, or angry, or like he’d wasted his time – as he’d thought it would. Instead, it made him feel like he’d done something rather amazing, and he wanted to do it again.

****

Later, when they’re all seated around the table, after everyone’s washed up, and they’ve said grace, Clay looks around at his family, and for the first time since he’s arrived at the Tellers, he really sees them.

Jax and Opie are telling John a story about something that happened at college, finishing each other’s sentences. Filip and Alex are re-enacting a scoring play that he and Alex led during their football game – Bobby and Juan are listening to the play-by-play details with rapt attention, Juan wriggling with excitement. Gemma, like him, is watching and listening to it all, a small, happy smile on her face.

“Pass the potatoes, would you?” Uncle Bobby asked, poking him with an elbow and jarring Clay out of his much too deep thoughts.

Clay reached for the potatoes and contemplated a more liberal interpretation of the word, ‘pass,’ when Gemma caught his eye, and with a raised eyebrow shook her head. He sagged back in his seat and passed the potatoes, sharing a look with Juan who’d apparently caught onto his moment of mischief, even though he hadn’t acted on it.

Maybe being a part of the Teller family wouldn’t be so bad after all. In Gemma, he had a mother who could keep him out of mischief, but who would also encourage him and give him a wide berth in which to express his talents. In John, he had a father whom he could work side-by-side with and learn from. In Juan, he had a doting little brother whom he could teach things to, like how to fix a bike, and how to start a food fight.


	4. A Thanksgiving to Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their relationship is still fairly new, and Opie's a little fearful about what will happen if the Tellers find out that he and Jax are together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I do not own the characters of this work of fiction and am making no profit through writing this.
> 
> Smut, angst, foul language, and quite possibly cheesy fluff are part and parcel of this chapter. There's a small amount of accidental voyeurism.
> 
> Written due to some kindly prodding by KeepCalm_WriteOn. Thank you, I hope that you enjoy this. 
> 
> This is imperfect, and I'm trying not to obsess over trying to /be/ perfect. Please forgive me, and let me know if you like this chapter. I'm more than a little worried.

"Jax," Opie hissed, eyes darting toward the laundry room door as Jax's hand slipped beneath the waistband of his jeans to cup his ass.

"We shouldn't be doing this here." He kept his voice at a whisper, eyes glued to the door, as though, at any moment, he expected one of Jax's family members to walk in on them.

They were home for the four day weekend, and Gemma had pointed them directly toward the laundry room when Jax had lugged his laundry basket into view. Opie could've told him that that was going to happen, as a matter of fact, he _had_ told Jax just that, but his friend, turned lover, had laughed and insisted that his mother wouldn't pass up an opportunity to, 'baby her oldest son'. Opie had brought his own laundry as well, intending to do it on his own. His dormitory's laundry room had been a hotbed of activity, and not all of it laundry related, the few days leading up to the holiday weekend.

Unrepentant, and unworried, Jax pushed Opie up against the washing machine, which vibrated against Opie's ass, and, smiling wickedly, nipped at Opie's throat, stubbled chin, and lips. Opie sucked his lip between his teeth, stomach flip-flopping, when Jax started to move his other hand up beneath his shirt and over his chest.

"Relax, Ope, no one's gonna walk in on us. Besides, I need this," Jax purred, grinding against Opie, who, in spite of himself was hard.

" _You_ need this," Jax chuckled, his warm breath eliciting goosebumps along Opie's collarbone, and causing him to shiver in spite of the warmth of the room, and of Jax's body.

Opie gasped when Jax started moving against him, hand squeezing his ass, and Jax took advantage, sliding his tongue into Opie's mouth. Opie closed his eyes, hands gripping Jax's shoulders, he allowed Jax to guide the kiss, their tongues moving in perfect sync.

Worries sufficiently pushed to the backburner, Opie's body responded to Jax's touch, and sought for sweet release. The washer's vibration, coupled with Jax's ministrations, made thought nearly impossible. All of his blood had rushed southward, and he felt lightheaded.

They were new to this. New to the discovery of each other as more than just friends. And it was heady, exciting, terrifying. Opie knew that his father wouldn't approve of this. Hell, the man hadn't approved of his friendship with Jax in the first place. Hadn't approved of the Tellers who invited abused and abandoned children into their home on a regular basis. He'd thought that it was foolish and just showcased the family's arrogance, was biding his time until one of the kids they took into their home robbed them blind, or started a fire that took their home, or outright killed them.

Opie shuddered, involuntarily, as he thought about what his old man would do if he found out about his relationship with Jax, now that it had moved from that of friendship into something more. He knew, or, thought he knew, that his mother would still love him, no matter what. Even if he was gay, or just so into Jax that he could barely think straight half the time, but his father was a different matter entirely. No way would his father accept this.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Jax's lips brushed against his jaw, and Opie knew that he was going to have to wear a turtleneck if he decided to pay a visit to his father, because he doubted that there was an inch of his neck that hadn't been marked by Jax.

Opie tried to shake off his worry, tried to void his mind of the images that it had conjured up of his father's judgement of him - red face contorted in a quiet rage that would find release on his backside should his father learn what he was, what the man had tried, when Opie had first expressed the thought that another boy was 'pretty', to beat out of him when he'd been younger, and hadn't known what the words gay and straight and bisexual meant. His stomach clenched, and he pulled Jax closer, needing the warmth, the comfort, and the love that his friend had to offer, for as long as it would be offered to him.

Opie fought to regain control of his mind, an almost violent, animalistic need taking control of him as he latched lips and fingers onto Jax with bruising force, causing the man he'd secretly had a crush on since he was thirteen years old, to gasp, pupils blown wide. Instead of pulling away from him, as Opie half feared he would, Jax grinned and drew even closer, which, given the circumstances and where they were, was a challenging, though apparently not impossible, feat.

Neither man heard soft snick of the door being opened, both were far too gone for that, and the washing machine was on the spin cycle, whirring, and because something had gone off-balance, the towels glomming together, it started banging against the wall, making a racket that nearly drowned out the sound of the two of them panting and groaning and grinding against each other as hands gripped and groped, fingers teased and twisted, and tingling lips sought to be the very undoing of the other.

It was a tiny, shocked gasp of sound, followed by a muted thud, which caused Opie to realize that they were no longer alone, but he was far too gone, erection straining against the zipper of his jeans, seeking and gaining friction every time that washer shoved him against Jax. Jax was rubbing against him as well, and they were both too far gone to stop what was fast becoming imminent. His eyes locked on the small, wide-eyed figure, fingers locked on Jax's arms, digging and begging for release, Opie thought, _Shit, fuck,_ but was unable to stop, because he was so damn close, and not even that look of horror on one of Jax's adopted sibling's face could put a damper on any of it.

Nonetheless, he closed his eyes, because he couldn't stand the look of shock and betrayal, and blatant, inexplicable fear that he could see in the child's eyes.

"Fuck, Jax," Opie said, because this was wrong. It had to be wrong, even though it felt so right. "We gotta stop."

They couldn't stop. _He_ couldn't stop, even though he wanted to. Instead of causing Jax to back away, his words seem to have had the opposite effect, causing Jax to press against him and speed up. The fucking washing machine increased its speed as well, as though it too were conspiring against him to make him the happiest fucking man alive. He was being shoved back and forth between the machine and his lover, and it was almost too much to bear.

He focused on the dual sensation of the washing machine and Jax's rock solid body grinding against him, not on the pair of brown eyes set in a small, round face, that had popped into view moments ago. Focused on the way that Jax's body, heavy and firm, felt as the man crowded his space, became one with him insofar as Opie felt as though the world had ceased to exist outside of the two of them.

"Almost there, baby," Jax moaned, mouth sucking at Opie's throat, leaving another mark that Opie would be hard pressed to hide, hips bucking, unwittingly matching the rhythm of the washing machine at Opie's backside.

"Gonna." Opie's mind exploded in a kaleidoscope of colors. Body quivering, muscles seizing.

"Gonna come," he breathed out, and then groaned, bit his bottom lip nearly hard enough to make it bleed. Fingers digging into Jax's hips, pinning him there, aiding in the mounting tension between them, Opie writhed.

In the heat of the moment, he forgot that they had an eyewitness, and, burying his face against Jax's shoulder, he cried out, and came, juddering. Jax came shortly after, hips pistoning against his, slamming him backwards into the washer, slowing after he'd come.

His legs felt like jelly. If it hadn't been for Jax and the washing machine, which, in the aftermath, had moved onto the final stage of the spin cycle, the unbalanced towels somehow redistributing themselves, causing the loud whir-bang sound to cease, and leaving him with the sound of his and Jax's ragged breathing, overly loud in the cramped space of the laundry room, he would have crumpled to the floor.

"Fuck," Jax whispered against his lips, a wolfish smile in place as they kissed.

The young intruder, temporarily forgotten, Opie indulged in tasting Jax. The minty flavor of his mouthwash contrasted with the orange juice that they'd had this morning, before making the two hour drive home. Underlying it all was an almost coppery undertone that was all Jax. Opie couldn't get enough of it, now that he was allowed to taste. He groaned, leaning against Jax, legs like rubber, heart swelling.

"Stop it!" a little voice, filled with anger and fear and no small amount of bravery, said. "Stop hurting him!"

Opie broke away from the kiss, eyes darting to the little figure he'd forgotten about in the heat of the moment. Schooling his features, he had to stifle a laugh, because the little boy, Juan, if he remembered the boy's name correctly, was kicking Jax in the shins. His little fists were clenched tightly at his sides, and he was practically vibrating with anger.

Mouth set in a hard line and eyebrows drawn tightly together, he was a sight to behold, and Opie's heart lurched in his chest, because no one had ever stood up for him like that, aside from Jax, and that had come to be the expectation, because they stood up for each other. It was part and parcel of who they were, but this little boy was no relation to him, and didn't have any cause to defend him, let alone against one of his own.

"Shit," Jax swore quietly, and grimaced. Another well aimed kick to the shin had him wincing and taking a step back.

"You said a bad word," Juan stated. He crossed his arms over his chest, and drew in a shaky breath. He looked from Jax to Opie, eyes shining with concern, and an understanding that no child his age should have reflected in his eyes.

"An' you hurted him," he accused in a tremulous voice, glaring at Jax.

Moved by Juan's defense of him, and something else that Opie didn't fully understand, he knelt in front of the little boy. "Hey, it's okay. I'm not hurt."

Jax ran a hand through his hair and drew in a deep breath. His face twisted with self-recrimination, and he knelt on the concrete floor across from his adopted brother and his best friend.

"But he was...he..." Juan's eyes filled with tears and he started to shake. "Sorry, sorry." He shook his head and started backing away, tripping over his own feet.

"Juan, hey, it's okay," Opie said, looking at Jax for help, because this was well out of his area of expertise. Jax was the one going to school for child psychology, Opie was pre-law. He didn't know anything about how to talk to little kids.

"Jax didn't hurt me. He uh...that is, we...uh..." unsure of just how much he could tell a little kid about what had happened between him and Jax, he turned to Jax who had a goofy, lopsided grin on his face.

Completely exasperated and feeling like he was drowning, "We love each other," Opie blurted out.

Juan blinked at him and frowned, eyes narrowing as he searched Opie's face for the truth. He seemed to relax a little, arms falling to his sides, brows scrunching in confusion rather than anger and worry.

Jax nodded. "Yeah."

"But..." Juan's chest puffed up as he took a deep breath. He bit his bottom lip and seemed at a loss for words. "Why was he hurting you, then?" He shot an accusatory look at Jax who was doing his best to appear non-threatening.

It was an earnest question, and posed so matter-of-fact that Opie was at a loss for words. He looked toward Jax who shrugged in response.

"He wasn't hurting me, we were..." Opie trailed off. "You see when two people love each other..."

"They hurt each other?" Juan's forehead wrinkled as he thought it over.

Opie nodded, and then, catching himself, he quickly shook his head. "No, when two people really love each other, they don't hurt each other."

"Then why were you making that noise?" Juan asked, leaning toward Opie, voice lowering to a whisper, as he cast a look at Jax out of the corner of his eyes. He was deadly serious, and so upset that Opie was almost desperate to find a way to explain things so that the little boy would understand and not worry about him.

Seeing that Jax was doing his best to keep a straight face, Opie realized that he'd find no help from him. He was completely on his own and had no idea how to explain things like kissing and sexual gratification to a little kid.

"Juice!" a voice called out, and the little boy flinched.

He moved closer to Opie, leaning against him, he cupped a hand around Opie's ear and whispered, "Shh, I'm hiding from Tig. We's playin' hide'n'seek."

That explained why the little boy had come into the laundry room in the first place, though it did little to ease Opie's mind about the whole situation. He wondered if little kids were always so easily distracted, if they moved from topic to topic so easily, because he was still trying to work out in his mind how he was going to answer Juan's question.

"He says I'm not a good hider, on account a how I always make too much noise," Juan shared. "But I _can_ be quiet. Honest." His lower lip protruded, and he gave Opie the impression that he'd been working hard on being quiet for a long time.

Feeling like he was suffering from whiplash, Opie nodded, and opened his mouth to agree with the little boy, but a finger was placed over his lips, and he was admonished, firmly, to, "Shush."

Juan's body quivered as he practically glued himself to Opie's side. Opie looked over to Jax, and, once again found the other man grinning at him, eyes shining with something that Opie really didn't want to examine at the moment, because Jax was being of no help whatsoever, and Opie's arms were now filled with a little boy who was trembling in fearful excitement, trying to hide himself inside of Opie's arms.

"Juicey, where are you?" Alex sang out.

The knob on the door to the laundry room jiggled, and Juan clamped a hand over his mouth and Opie's. Jax shook with ill-contained laughter as Opie looked to him, once again, for help that would not come. He was stuck, holding onto a little boy who, moments ago was a few shuddering breaths away from tears, and was now a breath away from screeching in play.

"Shh!" Juice whispered through the palm of his hand, and giggled.

Opie lifted the little boy as the doorknob twisted, and he searched for a better hiding place where Juan wouldn't be out in the open. Opie's stomach launched itself into his throat, and for a minute he felt every bit as nervous as the boy in his arms. He hadn't played hide-and-seek for years, maybe decades, yet the familiar gut-wrenching feeling of being caught was making him panic, which was no doubt comical if Jax's escaping guffaws of laughter were anything to judge by.

At the last second, as the door was swinging open, revealing a smug looking Alex, Opie found a spot to secure his little burden in, and shoved Juan into the small space between the dryer and the washer. He stood directly in front of the space, hiding Juan's body from view, trying to act casual as he sprawled against the now silent washer, and dryer.

Alex looked from Jax to Opie and cocked his head to the side, the smug look on his face quickly disappearing. He stepped further into the room, looking around a little warily.

"You seen Juice?" the question was directed at Jax, who shrugged, an innocent enough looking smile set in place. To someone who didn't know him any better, he would have appeared to be completely at ease. Opie, however, knew Jax very well, and could see through his facade.

"What about you?" Alex directed his piercing blue eyes at Opie, and Opie felt some of his resolve dissolving at the unveiled threat underlying the boy's icy gaze.

Opie shook his head. "Nope, haven't seen him."

Alex took a cautious step forward, trying to peer around Opie's frame, but Opie kept himself in place, and tried not to react when he felt Juan's hands pressing on the back of his calves, trying to pry them apart so that he could get a peek at what was happening. The little boy made a noise when his elbow or some other body part clanged against the washer, but Jax quickly covered up the sound with a cough.

Alex, though, was more than a little suspicious and looked from Jax to Opie, and then back again. He narrowed his eyes, dangerously, and placed his hands on his hips.

Lips quirked upward in a smile that would have looked angelic on any other child, Alex said, with authority that few master at such a young age, "Juice if you're in here, and don't come out, that's cheating, 'cause I found you, an' you have to come out. It's the rules."

Opie felt the little boy stiffen behind him, and heard the sharp intake of breath, which was covered by another cough, this time from him. Juan was going to cave, Opie knew that instinctually, and his heart went out to the little boy, because Alex was clearly playing on the little boy's sense of fairness and trying to make him feel guilty.

"B.S.," Jax said, moving from where he'd been standing to the washer. Lifting the lid he started pulling out the clothing, pretending that he'd dropped a sock so he could give Juan a quick smile and wink.

"If you _had_ found the kid, then you wouldn't be in the laundry room pestering me and Opie about it. Seems to me that the rules of hide-and-go-seek are very clear in that regard. You've got to actually _see_ the person that you're looking for in order to find him, not guess at where he is. Isn't that right, Ope?" Jax lifted an eyebrow.

Opie nodded, trying not to squirm when Juan's fingers wriggled a path between his calves. It tickled and it was all he could do not to jump away. Juan's fingers were bony, and thin, and the determined movements made Opie's skin crawl. It felt like there was a child-sized zombie behind him, and it was all he could do not to turn around and out the little boy, or put some distance between himself and those persistent fingers.

Instead of backing down, Alex canted his head to the side, and levied the both of them with a look that was eerie to see on a kid his age. It was a look that would've made Opie's father jab a finger in the face of the Tellers and smile a smug, _I told you so_.

"You two are hiding something," Alex stated with confidence, eyes sparkling, making him look much more like a child, and causing some of the tension to seep from Opie's shoulders. He felt foolish, nearly being cowed by a six or seven year old boy.

"Yeah, our dirty laundry," Jax said, laughing as he tossed his wet clothes into the dryer and started it. He draped an arm over Opie's shoulders, creating a united front, and grinned down at Alex.

Alex sighed and shook his head. "What're you two doing in here anyway? Watching the paint dry?"

Jax shrugged, unconcerned when Alex's jaw clenched. "Something like that."

Opie felt like he was facing some kind of inquisition, and wondered if Alex was considering becoming a detective or a lawyer. He'd be good at it. He had already perfected a steely look that could make others tremble, and, for one so young, he had an edge that was downright unnerving.

"Yeah, right." Alex crossed his arms over his chest and stared at them.

"Shouldn't you be out there, looking for Juice?" Jax prompted, using the little boy's nickname, and kicking his foot up against the dryer when the little boy in question banged against it.

"You can't fool me," Alex countered, standing his ground and jutting his chin. "I know he's in here. Where have you got him? And what are you really up to?"

"None of your business," Jax said, his grip tightening on Opie's shoulders as Alex's gaze narrowed.

"They're in love!" Juan shouted, and he shoved at Opie's legs in a manner that was more panic than anything else.

Opie stepped aside, ignoring the way that Alex's jaw had dropped in favor of checking on Juan. His face was flushed, and his eyes were wide, searching out and then latching onto Alex.

"You okay?" Opie knelt so that he was eye level with the little boy, blocking his view of Alex whose eyes were shooting daggers at Jax and him.

Juan nodded and stuffed his thumb into his mouth. He held his other arm up to Opie, and, though he was unsure what the little boy wanted him to do, he trusted his gut and picked him up. Juan sighed and rested his head against his shoulder.

"Baby," Alex muttered, looking down at his feet before raising his eyes and pinning Jax and Opie with a blue-eyed glare. "Were you two kissing in here? 'S'at why you were hiding in the laundry room?"

"Look, Alex, first of all, it's none of your business what Opie and I were doing in here. Second of all, we weren't hiding. And, third, you cheated," Jax listed, and he held up a finger when Alex opened his mouth to protest. Alex snapped his mouth shut and glowered.

"Didn't cheat," he mumbled, anyway, not quite looking at any of them.

"Making Juice feel bad _is_ cheating," Jax said, and he crouched and tipped Alex's face up until he was looking him in the eye. The boy's cheeks were red and his eyes were shining.

Juan took his thumb out of his mouth, and craned his neck backward to look at Alex. "It's okay, Tig, I forgive you. An' don't worry, Jack's'ns not hurtin' Opie. It only just _sounded_ like it." He scrunched his face up, and rested his head against Opie's shoulder once again.

"You love him?" Alex asked, jerking his head in Opie's direction.

"Not that it's any of your business," Jax sighed, and scratched at his head before smiling goofily at Opie, "but, yeah, I do."

A storm brewed in Alex's eyes before he hardened them and then pulled away from Jax. "How come?"

Jax blinked and looked to Opie for help who smiled and shrugged. Jax could have a taste of his own medicine, see what it was like to have a kid looking at him like that and not have a clue what to say.

"I think it's 'cause they're good friends," Juan spoke up. "Kin'a like us. 'Cept we don't kiss'n stuff." Juan's nose crinkled, and Alex looked a little horrified. Jax tried to keep a straight face.

"An' we don't do our laundry together," Juan added sagely, brow wrinkling.

Alex snorted. "'Course we don't. Miss Gemma does our laundry. We're too little for that. An' 'sides, we're brothers, Juice, we're not _friends_. Brothers is closer."

Juan seemed to consider his brother's words carefully and then nodded. "Can't Miss Gemma and Mr. John 'dopt Opie, too?"

"I'm a little too old for adoption, kiddo." The thought of it warmed him, though.

He'd grown up knowing the Tellers, being invited to family events. He'd often wondered what it would be like to have a big, loving family like Jax had. Even when Jax had run away that one time he'd still known that, when he came back, he had a place to stay and that his parents would still love him.

Opie's parents had divorced shortly after his twelfth birthday, and he'd been shuffled between one parent and the other. He'd always felt like when he was at one parent's home, he had to pretend to hate the other. And if he didn't spend an equal amount of time with each parent, he worried that they'd stop loving him. It had nearly torn him apart as a child and he hated it.

The Tellers had always kept their home open to him, and never expected anything of him other than to be Jax's friend. He'd never, though, in his opinion, been anything special to them. Would never be anything special to a family that took in kids on a constant basis. Though he could see how much Gemma and John loved the children they'd taken in over the years, Opie doubted that their love could be extended to him, especially not when his own parents couldn't seem to love him without some kind of stipulation attached to it.

He was just another kid hanging around the house. On holidays, he was another mouth to feed. He felt like an outsider looking in, and, though it wasn't the best position to have, he didn't want to ruin it, because, even if he never did belong, it was better being on the outside than being left out completely.

"Look, guys, you can't tell anyone about Jax and me," Opie said, stomach knotting with the thought of being kicked out and never being allowed into the Teller home again if Jax's parents found out about him and Jax, what they'd come to mean to each other.

"How come?" Juan titled his head to the side so he could get a better look at Opie. He was frowning. "Love's not bad, is it?"

"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Teller might not see it like that," Opie said, fumbling with words for what felt like the millionth time that day.

His palms were sweaty and his heart was beating a thousand times a second. He should've pushed Jax away, insisted that they cool it this weekend, wait until they were back at the dorms to continue exploring the physical nature of their relationship. It was still fairly new, in spite of the long held feelings that had for Jax, apparently feelings that had been reciprocated long before they'd been acted on one night at a frat party a couple of months ago.

"Yeah, how come?" Alex asked. "If it's not a bad thing, then how come you don't want us to tell Miss Gemma and Mr. John about it?"

"We'd just like to tell them in our own time," Jax answered, ruffling Alex's hair and laughing when the boy stuck his tongue out in retaliation. "So, please don't say anything, okay?"

Jax looked at each boy in turn. Alex shrugged and Juan nodded, though neither boy looked convinced and neither did Jax. He looked almost disappointed, and Opie felt as though something was sticking in his throat, like his heart. He felt like he was between a rock and a hard place, and it was no silly little proverb. If they came out to the Tellers Opie risked losing something he'd never had as a kid - the promise of a family - if he didn't, he might run the risk of losing the best thing that had happened to him, ever, Jax.

"I just don't want your parents to hate me," Opie confesses, voice quiet, and pinched.

"Why would they hate you?" Juan asked, face scrunched in puzzlement as he looked from Opie to Jax to Alex.

"'Cause boys ain't 'posed to like boys," Alex said, the _duh_ unspoken but evident in his tone of voice, and the way that he rolled his eyes.

"That's stupid!" Juan slammed his fists against Opie's chest. "I love you, an' I love Filip, an' I love Clay, an' Mr. Bobby, and Mr. John, an' Jack's'n, an' the on'y boys I don't like are the ones that hurted me, an' Opie said Jack'sn wasn't hurtin' him. Miss Gemma an' Mr. John still love me, don't they?"

"Of course they love you," Opie said, quick to reassure. "They won't ever stop loving you."

"Then how come you think they won't love you just 'cause you love Jack'sn?" Juan wondered, looking at Opie as though he thought the man had lost his mind. Opie was starting to think that maybe he had.

"It's because he _loves_ , loves Jax, not like a brother, you know, like how Miss Gemma loves Mr. John, and Mr. John loves Miss Gemma," Alex explained, voice taking on a patient, if exasperated, tone.

"Oh," Juan said, eyeing Opie thoughtfully, face falling a little, and then brightening up. "Are you gonna marry Jack's'n?"

The sound of a throat clearing saved Opie from having to answer the innocently spoken question, but he nearly dropped Juan when he saw Gemma standing in the doorway. She had an indiscernible look on her face, and Opie's heart fell to his stomach. This was it, the moment of reckoning, and Opie wondered how he was going to give up, not only Jax, but this family he'd enjoyed experiencing on the peripheral.

"Boys, it's almost time for dinner, go wash up," Gemma said, nodding at Alex and Juan.

Juan scrambled out of Opie's arms after giving him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. With a wave toward Jax, he raced Alex out of the room. Both boys nearly collided in the door frame, and they shoved at each other. Opie wished he could join them, or melt into the floor.

Gemma walked over to him, and Opie's heart stilled before it started hammering in his chest, loud enough to deafen him. An apology was on the tip of his tongue, but it was glued to the roof of his mouth.

When Gemma lifted a hand to his cheek, he flinched, expecting a slap. Instead, she cupped his cheek and then pulled him in for a hug.

"Honey, you don't have to worry about John and I hating you, ever. We love you, no matter what, you're as much a part of our family as Jackson and the rest of the boys are. Nothing's gonna change that. And, let's just say that this, what's happening between my son and you," she said, pulling back a little so she could look him in the eye, "it's not exactly news to me." Gemma kissed him on the cheek and then rubbed at the lipstick she'd left there.

"Now, like I told my other boys, dinner's almost ready, you two need to go wash up." Gemma gave each of them a pointed look, and Opie felt heat crawl up his neck, straight to his ears.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, looking down, praying that Gemma hadn't noticed the wet spot on his and Jax's jeans, that the boys hadn't noticed them.

"Call me ma'am one more time, and you'll be sitting at the kiddie table," Gemma threatened.

Jax chuckled, and he slung an arm over Opie's shoulders. "Told you we didn't have anything to worry about," he said, pulling Opie into a kiss.

"Dinner's not waiting for you," Gemma warned, patting Opie's arm.

"Don't worry, Mom," Jax said, though his lips never left Opie's. "We haven't come all this way to miss dinner."

Opie's heartbeat evened out, and the remaining tension bled from his shoulders. "Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about." Jax shrugged off the apology. "Of course Mom will probably be planning our wedding, and, from the looks of it, Juice is going to be right smack dab in the middle of all of it."

Opie groaned, and blushed. "Shit."

"Yeah, shit about covers it," Jax agreed, laughing.

"You two going to do laundry all through dinner?" John asked, causing both of them to jump.

"Uh, no, Mr. Teller, we were just, uh..."

"Doing laundry," John supplied. "You know, Jackson, your mother and I used to do our laundry in this very same room."

Jax closed his eyes and groaned, broke off the kiss as if they'd been doused with a cold bucket of water. When Opie chanced a look at John, the man's eyes were twinkling and his lips twitching with laughter.

"Welcome home," John said, giving each of them a hug, and a pat on the back. "About time the two of you figured out what was what," he added. "And that you came out of the laundry room." He chuckled at his own joke.

Rolling his eyes, Jax reached for Opie's hand and pulled him along behind him. Opie had a feeling that this Thanksgiving break was going to be one that he'd remember for the rest of his life.


	5. Snow Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being cooped up indoors, during a snowstorm, is never a good thing for little boys. A snow day brings up bad memories for Alex. Juan, and the movie, Frozen, help him through them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, and little Juan-centeredness. 
> 
> I know it's imperfect; I hope that's okay. Let me know if you like this.

"I'm bored," Alex said, sighing heavily, and resting his head in his hands as he stared out of the front window at the gathering snow. School had been canceled because of the snow, and it was so deep that they couldn't even go outside and have snowball fights or make snowmen.

Juan climbed up on the window seat beside Alex and pressed as close to the frosted glass as he could without actually touching the window.

"Me too," he said, and tried to imitate Alex's sigh. His breath fogged the window. Wide-eyed, Juan took a quick look behind them, and seeing that it was just him, Alex, and Filip, he quickly wiped the foggy area with the palm of his hand.

"What's bored?" Juan asked after a minute, forehead scrunched in thought as he turned to look at his best friend, and brother, Alex.

It was Filip who answered instead. The older boy settled onto the window seat on the other side of Juan, and tousled Juan's curls. There was an almost smile on his face, which was very rare for the broody boy who'd lost, not just his parents when he'd been placed in foster care, but his younger siblings.

"It's when you ain't got nothin' to do, and you wanta be doing something else, but you can't, because it's snowing," Filip explained.

"Oh." Juan frowned, and he pressed the palm of his hand to the frosted glass, amazed at the way that little crackles of ice, like tiny snowflakes, formed around the shape of his hand. He knew he shouldn't get the window dirty, because then it would need to be cleaned, and he didn't want to make extra work for Miss Gemma or Mr. John, but it was pretty, and he liked the feel of the cold, smooth glass beneath the palm of his hand.

Alex sighed, and he pulled Juan's hand away from the window. The ice crystals crackled, and filled in the space where Juan's hand had been. It was like magic.

"You're gonna catch a cold like that," Alex scolded, voice gruff, and yet gentle at the same time. "Don't wanna die, do ya?"

Juan bit his lip and looked down at the palm of his hand. It was cold, and red, and he wondered if the cold would spread up his arm, and into whatever part of his body it was that colds came from. He shook his head fiercely. He didn't want to die. Not now that he had Alex and Filip and Clay and Miss Gemma and Mr. John and Uncle Bobby.

"Relax, you ain't gonna die," Filip said, carefully placing an arm over Juan's shoulders, aware that Juan didn't like to be touched unexpectedly. None of them did.

Juan tensed up, and then relaxed when Filip gave his shoulders a slight squeeze. Juan was still looking at his hand, as though it was as fascinating as the ice crystals that had been created by the warmth of it as he'd pressed it against the cold window.

"That's how my little brother died," Alex said, voice so soft that Juan and Filip had to lean in close to hear it. "He caught cold, 'cause he was left outside too long."

Juan patted Alex's arm with the hand he'd been staring at. His brows and lips were pinched together and his brown eyes were shining.

"He was light blue," Alex added in a whisper, tracing the outer edge of the mark that Juan's hand had left on the glass. His eyes were fixed on something that neither Filip nor Juan could see, and his lips were turned downward.

"Like Anna when Elsa akidentally frozed her?" Juan asked, voice subdued.

Alex nodded. "Yeah, 'cept he never woke up."

"Sowry." Juan hugged Alex tightly, and Filip reached across Juan to do the same.

Alex, who typically avoided anything that he deemed 'too girly' or 'wussy', leaned into the touch, and seemed to melt against Juan. He sniffed, but didn't cry.

"You got _us_ now," Filip declared. They were all familiar with loss, but he knew what it felt like to lose a sibling.

Juan nodded. "Yeah. You're my bestest brudder and friend."

"Hey, what about me?" Filip asked, only half kidding.

"You too," Juan answered seriously, brown eyes wide. "Hey, hey, hey, do you wanna build a snowman?" Juan bounced up and down on the window seat as he sang the words to the all too familiar song. It was one of his favorite songs, and he sang it often.

"It's too cold, an' the snow's too deep," Alex said.

"Oh yeah," Juan remembered, slumping between Filip and Alex.

"I wonder if there's anyone in here who would like some hot chocolate?" Miss Gemma's voice caused all three of them to jump, and turn away from the now completely fogged up window.

"Can we watch, Anna and Elsa?" Juan asked as he scrambled down from the window, earlier unhappiness seemingly forgotten, though he did turn around to grab Alex's hand and pull him down from the window.

"Now, that depends, how does everyone else feel about watching, _Frozen_?" Miss Gemma asked, biting her lip to keep from adding the word, _again_.

Filip shrugged and pushed off of the window seat to join the others. He didn't love the movie like Juan did, and had almost memorized all of the lines, but there were worse movies the little boy could have requested, and days like this were more about entertaining the little kids than anything else. It might also help take Alex's mind off of the death of the little brother that he'd never spoken of before.

"Sure, why not?" Filip voiced.

"What about you, Alex?" Miss Gemma asked in a quiet voice that indicated she had overheard their conversation at the window, but wasn't going to press for more details. Not yet, maybe not ever. She was good at waiting.

Juan practically vibrated as he waited in eager anticipation. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, hands clasped behind his back. The little boy was holding his breath as he waited for his idol's answer.

"Okay," Alex said, not quite meeting Miss Gemma's eyes as he dug his toes into the carpet. "I'm bored anyway." When he looked up, his eyes were shining.

"Come, help me with the hot chocolate," Miss Gemma said, holding her hand out to Alex who took it without making his usual fuss about holding a girl's hand. "Filip, why don't you help Juan get the DVD player set up?"

"Can we have mashmarlows too?" Juan asked.

Miss Gemma chuckled and nodded. "How about a candy cane to stir up the chocolate with, and some popcorn?"

Juan's eyes nearly popped out of his face and he squealed with delight. He launched himself at Miss Gemma and hugged her around the legs, nearly causing her to fall over, and making Alex laugh, though it was a very wet sounding laugh.

"Yes, yes, yes." Juan squeezed her legs tightly. "Please," he hastily added, pulling back and craning his neck to peer up at her. He had a wide, gap-toothed smile on his face that was contagious.

Miss Gemma laughed and bent down to kiss his forehead. "Tell you what, Alex and I will get the goodies ready while you and Filip set up the living room. How does that sound?"

"Can we make a fort?" Juan asked, tilting his head to the side, and giving her big, doe eyes. When he was older, fathers of his dates were going to greet him at the front porch with a shotgun in hand.

Sighing, and knowing that she'd been had, Miss Gemma nodded. She'd survived many snow days before. Young boys with bottled up energy, cooped up in the house, could be a handful on the best of days.

For the sake of entertaining her boys, she'd willingly let her living room become a casualty. It beat the alternative - repeated choruses of: " _I'm bored,"_ and, " _There's nothing to do,"_ or, " _Why can't I go outside and play?"_

"I'll go get the blankets from our room!" Juan shouted, and he tore out of the room at a dead run, colliding with Clay who'd decided to venture downstairs to get a snack, before returning to his gaming. He was still in his pajamas, his hair was disheveled, and he looked a little bleary eyed.

"Oomph." Clay scowled down at Juan, but helped the little boy up without a word.

"Clay, we're making a fort, an' we're gonna watch Anna an' Elsa, an' drink hot choc'late wif mashmarlows, an' canny canes." Juan strung the words together without taking a single breath, and Clay blinked at him as he tried to process the little boy's words.

"Sounds like fun, kid," Clay said, scratching at his head as he made to move around the little boy and head to the kitchen. Juan's hand snagged the sleeve of his pajama top, forcing him to stop, though.

"You can play too," Juan said, voice hopeful, doe eyes at full power.

Clay gave Miss Gemma a pleading look, but she just smirked and raised an eyebrow in challenge. A quick look at Alex revealed that something was bothering the kid, and Clay reluctantly nodded. He was stuck on a level anyway, might be good to get a break from the game he'd been playing for the past five plus hours.

"Alright, I'll go get the blankets and pillows from mine and Filip's room." Clay tried to put as much enthusiasm in his voice as he could, and didn't resist when Juan grabbed his hand and pulled him back toward the stairs he'd just descended.

Miss Gemma's smile gave Clay the added incentive that he needed as he let Juan lead him up the stairs at a pace that left him winded when they got to the top. He then proceeded to race Clay down the hallway to the bedroom that he and Alex shared, which was directly across from the bedroom that Clay and Filip shared. Clay pretended to 'race' the little boy, but didn't have to pretend to lose.

Juan seemed to have more energy than twenty people combined; being trapped inside the house on a cold winter day didn't help matters. Playing outside helped to burn off some of the little boy's energy, and Clay knew that once it was warm enough, he'd be outside building a fort, or making a snowman with Juan and the other boys. He'd do it to help out Miss Gemma, if for no other reason, and, because maybe it wasn't _so_ bad to watch out for the younger boys.

Juan came out of the bedroom that he shared with Alex, arms piled up with blankets and pillows. The only part of him that could be seen were his feet. Blankets trailed on the floor behind him, and Clay stifled a laugh.

"Here, let me help, Juice," Clay offered, using the little boy's nickname.

"I got 'em." Juan's voice was muffled by the bedclothes, but there was no mistaking the pride in it.

Clay rolled his eyes, and took a couple of the blankets from the little boy anyway. He ignored Juan's indignant protest, and ruffled the little boy's hair, gaining a glare of protest in response.

"Hey!" Juan pouted.

Footsteps thundered up the stairs, and Filip ran down the hall, coming to a skidding halt in front of them. "What's taking you two so long?" he asked as he took a pillow from Juan, and brushed past Clay to gather a few more blankets.

"That's my piwow!" Juan stomped his foot. His face had started to turn red, and Clay knew that he had to get the little boy's attention diverted before he lost his temper. It was a rare event, but it was never a good thing when Juan got angry, because the little boy would throw a fit, and no one would be able to get through to him once it started.

"Juice, lets get these pillows and blankets downstairs and start making the fort," Clay said.

Juan's eyes flicked toward Clay. They were dark and stormy, and filled with something that Clay didn't understand, but it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He pulled the only card that he had left to play. The only card that ever seemed to work with Juan whenever he got worked up about something. The Alex card. The little boy practically worshipped Alex, and, to a smaller degree, the rest of them, but it was Alex who seemed to hang the moon and the stars for Juan.

"C'mon, Juice, Tig and Miss Gemma are waiting for us," Clay said, placing emphasis on the nickname for Alex.

Juan's shoulders slumped and he lost the defiant look. "I wan' my piwow back."

"You'll get your pillow back; Filip's just gonna help you carry it down," Clay said, borrowing patience from Mr. John's example.

"I'm not a baby," Juan said, eyes shining.

"No, you're not." Clay wondered how the Tellers could be so patient with all of them; dealing with crap like this was not easy. "But the sooner we get all of this stuff downstairs, the sooner we can get the fort built, and the sooner we can start the movie."

"Here ya go," Filip said, plopping the pillow back onto Juan's pile of bedding. "The last one down the stairs is a rotten egg!"

Juan started running after the other boy, earlier anger apparently forgotten in the chase. Clay followed after the two, watching out for Juan who kept tripping over the trailing bedding that he insisted on carrying by himself.

That Juan made it down the stairs in one piece was nothing short of a miracle as far as Clay was concerned. He didn't realize that he'd been holding his breath until he handed off the blankets to a waiting Filip.

"We got fort construction under control here, if you want to go and help Miss Gemma and Tig with the hot cocoa," Filip said, and there was something in his voice that alerted Clay to the fact that not everything was as simple as it had seemed when he'd left the cocoon of his room for food.

Clay nodded. "Okay, if you've all got it under control here."

"We got it, Clay," Juan said, pushing him out of the room as he turned his attention back to Filip and the large assortment of blankets, pillows and cushions that were already strewn all over the living room.

Filip had been busy before joining them upstairs to help gather more materials. The living room, to the eyes of anyone other than a child, was in complete shambles. Not a cushion was in its proper place, and the furniture had been rearranged to make the construction of a fort easier.

Clay gladly took his leave of the two, and made his way to the kitchen, holding back when he caught the sound of subdued voices. He peeked inside the kitchen. Alex was sitting on the counter, legs swinging as he talked to Miss Gemma who was stirring a pot of something, probably the hot cocoa that Filip had mentioned. He felt like an intruder, yet was frozen to the spot, unable to move as he listened to Alex talk about a little brother that Clay had not heard of before.

"He was always crying all the time," Alex said. "An' wouldn't shut up. An'..." Alex bit his lip. His mouth twisted in pain, and possibly anger. He took a deep breath and shuddered.

Miss Gemma's hand didn't falter as she stirred the milk for the hot cocoa. Her lips were pursed, and her eyes were shiny, but she didn't interrupt, or prompt Alex to finish his sentence.

"An' it was my fault," Alex whispered, voice choked. "I didn't want him, 'cause he was so small an' I couldn't play with him, an' he was always cryin', an'..."

"It wasn't your fault," Clay cut in, feet propelling him forward of their own volition. He had no idea what the little boy was blaming himself for, but knew, in his heart, that whatever had happened to his brother wasn't Alex's fault.

"I should'a looked out for him," Alex said, turning his big blue eyes toward Clay. "He was so small, an' he was my respons-bil-ty."

Clay shook his head, and placed a hand on the boy's knee. "Nah, he was your parent's responsibility, not yours," Clay said, certain of his answer.

"Clay's right, sweetie," Miss Gemma agreed. "What happened to your little brother wasn't your fault."

Alex looked from Clay to Miss Gemma and then back again, searching their faces for any falsehood. He never took anything at face value, and didn't trust anything or anyone easily. He'd been lied to most of his life, but had always trusted what his father had said, and he'd blamed him for Timmy's death, saying that Alex, as his big brother, should have reminded him to let him in the house after his punishment was over. Alex had forgotten, though, and it had been so cold. Timmy had died a few days later, and Alex's father had blamed him for it.

"I forgot about him," Alex confessed. He was looking at his hands, which were clasped together. "How could I forget about him?" He raised his eyes to Miss Gemma, and held his breath.

"Oh, baby," Miss Gemma said. Her voice was thick, and she took the pan of warmed milk off the burner, and pulled him into a hug. "I'm so sorry about what happened."

She released him, and kissed him on the cheek, wiping off the smear of lipstick. Her eyes reflected the way that Alex felt, and he wiped at his eyes. He didn't want to cry. Crying was for babies, and he wasn't a baby. He was in first grade, and first graders didn't cry.

"You didn't forget him," Clay said, his voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere far away, and Alex latched onto it. "He's right there," Clay said, and he tapped on Alex's chest. "In your heart. Like my mom and dad, and Filip's brother and sisters are. He'll always be there."

Alex thought about it, and nodded, a sudden warmth filling his chest at Clay's words. He _did_ remember Timmy, sometimes at the oddest of times, though he tried never to talk about him, or think about him for too long, because he didn't want to remember how his little brother had died, and he didn't want to cry, or to hurt.

"And we'll always be there, too," Clay said, tapping Alex's chest again. "Because you've got a big heart."

Alex rubbed at the spot that Clay had touched. It ached, but not because of Clay. It ached, because, today, when Juan had put his hand on the window, Alex remembered what had happened to Timmy, and he was afraid that he'd lose Juan like that too. That he wouldn't be a good enough big brother to him. That, like Elsa had accidentally frozen her sister when they were playing, he'd do something like that to Juan.

It scared him, and made his heart feel funny, and it made him miss Timmy. And that made him feel guilty, because he loved Juan, and the brothers that he had with the Tellers, more than he loved Timmy.

"You've got a very big heart, Alex," Miss Gemma agreed. "And you're a very good brother."

"One of the best," Clay said, nudging his foot.

"But...what if I make a mistake?" Alex asked, voicing one of his biggest worries.

"We all make mistakes," Clay said, shrugging. "You can't live your whole life afraid to make mistakes."

"Clay's right, honey." Miss Gemma squeezed Alex's shoulder. "While we all make mistakes, it wasn't your fault that your little brother died, and you're not responsible for Juan, or Filip or Clay's wellbeing. That's what John and I are here for, to take care of all of you."

Miss Gemma gave him a quick hug, and then, with a gleam in her eye, she pointed toward the cabinets behind him. "Now, hand me the mugs for the hot chocolate before the milk gets cold. Clay, can you put the popcorn in the microwave, and put it into the big bowls when it's done?"

Clay nodded, and Alex got up on his knees to reach for the mugs. He spied Juan's favorite first, and smiled as he pulled the Anna mug down off the shelf. His own favorite mug had Spiderman on it, and was right next to Juan's. Clay's came next, it had some kind of motorcycle on it, and the words, Harley Davidson. Filip's mug featured The Flash, and had a cool lightning bolt on it.

"You need any help in here?" Filip practically skated into the room on his socks, clinging to the doorway so that he wouldn't fall as he collided with the wall. "Juice an' I got the fort all set up."

"You can help carry the hot chocolate when it's poured," Miss Gemma said. "Where's Juice?"

"He's in there fluffing pillows or something," Filip said, shrugging. "And singing _the_ song." He rocked back on his heels, eyes going wide.

"Well, when it warms up, all of you can go outside and build snowmen," Miss Gemma said, gesturing for Filip to take a mug of hot chocolate that had a candy cane for a stir stick.

Clay groaned, but he was smiling, and Filip looked like he'd rather start singing. Filip didn't like to spend much time outside in the cold snow, but he was really good at making snowmen, and always helped Alex and Juan put the different parts together. He was real good at making sure the snowmen they built looked 'presentable'.

Alex jumped off the counter like Spiderman. He felt better, though he was still a little sad, and worried that he'd do something wrong, and that Juan would end up like Timmy if he didn't look out for him good enough.

He stretched up on his tiptoes to grab his and Juan's mugs, careful to hold them by the handle after Miss Gemma had finished filling them with cocoa, marshmallows and added a candy cane to each of them. She'd given Juan one of the multicolored ones that he liked. It tasted fruity, instead of pepperminty.

"You got those okay?" Clay asked, he had his hands full of popcorn bowls. Alex shot him a glare over the top of the hot chocolates.

"I'm not a baby," Alex said, and he walked, very carefully, to the living room.

Clay rolled his eyes, and said, "I know you ain't a baby. Just offering to help."

Alex had to blink a couple of times when he entered the living room, because he couldn't believe his eyes. Filip and Juan hadn't made a fort of blankets and pillows, they'd made a fortress. It was awesome, and Alex felt his heart lifting a little when he heard Juan singing, "Do you wanna build a snowman?"

When Juan spotted him, he stopped singing, and launched himself at Alex, nearly causing the hot cocoa to go flying when he tackled him in a hug as though it had been days, not minutes, since they'd last seen each other. Of course, that was how Juan greeted him after he'd been at school all day, and Juan had been at home with the babysitter.

Juan dragged Alex over to a spot that was deep within the fortress of blankets and pillows, and only a little of the hot chocolate spilled along the way. He then rushed out of the tent to help Filip and then Clay and Miss Gemma navigate the caverns of what once used to be a living room, to their designated spots, before settling onto a large cushion, right beside Alex.

It didn't miss Alex's, or anyone else's, attention that he and Juan had the best seats in the house for viewing the movie. Though the others could see the large TV just fine from where Juan had seated them, they weren't front and center, like he and Alex were. No one said anything about it, though.

Popcorn was passed around, hot chocolate was sipped, and, at the behest of Juan, songs were sung. Miss Gemma's voice was beautiful, and Alex thought that maybe he could listen to her sing the rest of his life; for some reason, it made him feel safe. Clay and Filip's voices were kind of rusty sounding, whereas Juan's was strong and clear. He sang at the top of his lungs, and without reservation; Alex wished he could be that brave.

Juan clung to him during the 'scary' parts of the movie. Even though he'd seen it countless times before, Juan always seemed to be moved by what happened in the movie every time he watched it, as though he was watching each subsequent viewing of the movie with a fresh pair of eyes, which was kind of how he approached life.

Tensing up and reaching for Alex when Elsa accidentally hit her sister with a magic burst of freezing cold air that nearly stole her life; sitting on his knees and leaning forward, urging Elsa to leave her room and build a snowman with Anna, and looking at Alex with eyes that seemed to be asking him what he'd do in Elsa's place, if Juan had been the one begging to play; laughing hysterically whenever Olaf said something silly...

By the end of the movie, they were both lying on their bellies, Juan was leaning heavily against Alex, fighting off sleep, eyelids drooping, upper lip bearing a chocolate and marshmallow moustache. He had an arm draped over Alex; the other was clutching an Olaf plushie that he'd gotten for Christmas. It was his favorite toy, and Alex was his favorite person.

"I love you, 'Lex," Juan said around a yawn.

Alex's heart skipped a beat as Timmy's face swam before him before disappearing in the blink of an eye. Alex watched as Anna sacrificed herself for her sister, heart pounding in his chest, and tears welling in his eyes, though he, too, had seen this movie too many times to count. Juan was squeezing both Alex and his stuffed Olaf tightly as magic brought Elsa back to life and Olaf declared, "An act of true love will thaw a frozen heart."

It was magic, though, and magic wasn't real, but Juan, and the Tellers and Clay and Filip were, and they loved him. They told him as much almost every single day.

"I love you, too," Alex whispered, daring to believe, though Juan's eyelids had lost the battle to remain open, and the sound of light snores, rather than music, came from his lips.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm hoping to add another 'chapter' for Halloween.


End file.
